


Oath

by StormyInk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, Eremika - Freeform, F/M, Human Trafficking, Modern Retelling, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyInk/pseuds/StormyInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't want to leave Eren but her past had caught up with her and she refused to let those shadowy fingers touch a hair on his head, refused to keep putting him in danger, even if it meant tearing herself out of his life. "Are you coming?" Levi asked her & she looked away from the boy who'd saved her life all those years ago, from the boy who'd breathed heat and life back into her lungs. It was time to keep the oath she'd made. "Yes. I am."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Splinter

_~Eleven years ago~_

"She escaped?"

Levi broke from his reverie, pulling his hand away from his mouth, his back cramped from being hunched for so long. He folded his hands together, glaring. "Yes."

Claude sat on the edge of the scarred table, fiddling with his butterfly knife nervously. "We have all of the others. We have plenty of them, men and women and even some kids, all healthy. I don't think he'll care if he gets one less. I don't think there's anything to worry about—she's just one that escaped, that's all. He'll get his moneys worth."

Levi hummed, drumming his fingertips on his knee, his other hand raking his hair back.  _Move them,_ he thought,  _hide their shaking._  "She was a coveted pretty piece, from a specific clan from his homeland. He wanted her quite badly."  _Very badly._  "He'll cause a shit storm once he realizes we won't deliver her."

Claude shifted, awkwardly twisting his body, driving his blade through the soft, decayed wood between them.

"We can get her back. I have a few guys who are good enough to make sure of it. Bloodhounds, really—they can sniff out a mouse from miles away."

"No." Levi eyed the blade bitten into the table's surface, tried not to think of it biting into her pale flesh. "We'll leave it be. We don't know where she's at. For all we know she could have gone to the authorities. They could have a setup, expecting us to go after her, waiting to flush us out. It's too risky. We'll just tell him she killed herself. Hung herself or threw herself out the back of the van or a window, anything, but she's gone. Understand?"

"We can find her, though." Claude pressed, carving into the table viciously, his lanky blonde hair falling over his furrowed brow. "We can say she escaped but we're looking for her. Maybe we can get him to pay a little more, you know, for the trouble of dragging the bitch back." He kept carving. "Maybe we can even have a little fun with her for all the fucking trouble she's causing."

Levi's fury cracked through him, unblinking as he kicked the leg of the table, throwing Claude off, the blade cutting into his thumb and palm.

"What the fuck, Levi—"

"I said she's fucking gone, Claude, get it through your fucking skull. He wouldn't pay us to find what we lost. Do you think everyone's as stupid as you?" The trembling was getting worse but he bit through it. "Put that blade away before I shove it up your ass. Swallow your shit instead of spewing it all over the place."

Claude held his bleeding hand to his chest, his dull blue eyes glinting with restrained fury. "I was just trying to help—"

"Well, don't. You never fucking do." Levi stood, hiding his stiff limbs with a casual lean against the window, his lungs tight as he gazed down at the buildings and streets below. All oblivious, all ignorant, unknowing, unaware of how merciful their blindness was.

"Fine. But we're losing a lot of money for just one stupid, tenacious bitch." He bent, lifting his bloodied blade from the ground, the soft stomps of his boots and the slam of the door making Levi wind up tighter, knew he was close to breaking.

But he couldn't, he reminded himself, shutting his eyes, slowing his breathing. This life was a hard one but he was harder, and he'd fucking chew nails if he had to, merrily fucking pull on more chains, dig his own grave deeper.

For her. Because she was soft, she was goodness. He'd gladly damn himself to a life of enslavement, swallow his soul up in filth, to keep her free and running, to keep her as clean and pure as she was, keep her away from the life he'd chained himself to, no matter how much his hollow chest ached.

He'd already dragged her into these filthy waters deep enough—but it had been necessary to bring her across the seas, to get her out of her warring, dangerous homeland. It had been the only way, her only chance of a good life. It had been risky, and he'd almost been caught but he'd slipped her through their grubby fingers quickly enough. She was safe for now but a far way from being completely out of harm's way.

And he needed to clean this shit up before anyone put the pieces together. He flexed his scarred knuckles, wondered if he had enough left in him to do what he had to.

He needed to make her truly disappear—far enough that even his own filthy hands couldn't reach her.

* * *

_~Eleven Years Later~_

"She's pretty." Armin murmured, his small pale fingers gripping the chain fence, his blue eyes peering from behind it. "How old is she?"

"Nine." Eren murmured, shrugging as he pulled himself up off the grass. "Our age. Her name is Mikasa." He brushed away the bits of clinging dirt and blades. "That's what my mom said."

"Oh. Mikasa." Armin murmured, pulling away from the fence. "She looks very happy." Armin's cheeks were bright and pink, the color clashing starkly with the ink blue of his eyes. "Doesn't she, Eren?"

"Yeah." Eren's stormy green eyes narrowed as he joined Armin's careful watching of the girl, the tinkle of her pretty laughter carrying in the cold breeze as her father ruffled her long black hair. She had very nice skin, Eren thought, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen anyone with eyes as dark as hers. He'd never seen  _features_  quite like hers really, except perhaps on television—and except for her mother, who was also very, very pretty.

He looked back up, seeing her swing through the monkey bars quickly, oddly graceful for her age. He could only get about halfway before his fingers betrayed him and he hit the ground. She reached the other side, hopping down, shyly looking up at her father, seeking his approval.

"You don't think she's pretty?" Armin pressed.

Eren blinked a little owlishly. He had remembered blushing when he'd met her mother at the supermarket the other day, her gentle smile oddly pleasing. "I guess. But lots of girls are pretty."

Armin's eyes shimmered curiously. "I've never heard you call any other girls pretty."

Eren scowled a little, adjusting his scarf, grabbing Armin's sleeve and tugging. "Come on, it's cold and it's getting late."

Armin kept smiling, nodding and falling into step beside Eren. "It's still kind of early." He looked up at the twilight sky, then glanced at him perceptively. "Did they shorten your curfew again?"

"Tch," Eren shoved his small hands into his coat pockets, a little guilt creeping into him, remembering the last time he'd gotten them both into trouble. "They didn't. I'm just cold." Eren lied, eyeing the darkening sky, the way the street had quickly emptied. They didn't live in the most dangerous part of town but neither was it the safest. The houses weren't too close together, and the woods about them were thick and shadowy, and he'd watched the news enough to know that sometimes bad things happened in them. "I'm hungry." He jutted out his chin, walking mulishly.

He could try his best to defend Armin but he wouldn't risk it if he didn't have to.

Armin smiled, walking beside him. "Okay."

They were just passing an alley when the sound of hushed male voices made them freeze. Eren turned stiffly, seeing four scraggly looking men huddled together, walking towards them.

"Hurry, Armin." Eren grabbed Armin's hand, linking their fingers, tugging them both forward. "If they try to grab at us you run, alright?" He felt his heart pound, all the warnings his mother had drilled into his skull springing forward. "Get help and I'll try to hold those bastards off."

"You shouldn't curse." Armin said reflexively, keeping his gaze on the ground, letting Eren pull him forward, his jagged breaths fogging the air. "And Eren—I wouldn't—I won't leave you—let's just run. There's a fire station just around the corner we can both make it…your dad always said we should run there if we needed help—"

The men stepped out of the alley, inches from their backs, the scent of smoke and cloves and alcohol striking their noses offensively. Eren sucked in a deep breath, pushing Armin forward and bracing himself between them—when the thugs suddenly turned in the opposite direction, their gazes latched onto the park with unusual intensity.

_The park?_

Eren paused, looking over his shoulder, searching for Mikasa and her father—but they were gone. Or, so it seemed. From their angle they could only see half of the park, the building blocking the rest, but if he just took a few steps, maybe if he shouted he could warn them and give them time to—

"Eren." Armin pleaded, shaking his head. "We should go. They're looking at us, now."

Eren sucked in a deep breath, seeing the thugs watching them warily, their glares threatening, dirty fingers slipping into their pockets suggestively, a last warning.

And he  _wasn't_  a coward but he wouldn't drag Armin into it, wouldn't risk hurting him. Not when he wasn't  _sure._  Besides, it looked as if Mikasa and her dad had left already. Hadn't they? She  _did_ have her dad with her and he should know that being out on the streets at night wasn't safe. They were probably almost home by now.

He turned away with a last sharp glare at the thugs, his throat tight, swallowing the sharp ache that had appeared within it.

It didn't feel right. There was something going on, something his child's mind couldn't quite fathom, something ugly that made his small fists clench. "Alright. Let's go."

Armin let out a breath in relief. "I'm sure they're fine, Eren."

He nodded, unable to stop himself from looking back.

* * *

"It's no good." Grisha muttered, the words barely audible from between gritted teeth, putting down the woman's thin wrist. "They've been dead for hours." He placed his hands on his thighs, still kneeling, his words sounding strained but hopeful. "Eren is there a little girl nearby? Is Mikasa there?"

Eren spoke tonelessly. "No, she isn't."

His eyes felt unbearably dry, and he forced himself to blink, once, twice, slowly. They'd been killed, her dad dead with a neat, deep bullet hole in his gut—not the mom, though. It looked as if they'd blasted off most of her neck and shoulder, the bite deep, snapping the collarbone, and lower. It must have hurt, he thought dully, it couldn't have been the same gun.

"A shot gun." He heard his father murmur. "These houses are so far apart from one another…people hunt in these woods all the time." He shook his head. "Gun shots are normal."

_Normal._

It was huge, a crater on her small slim body, disfiguring the bones in her face. It almost looked as if some large beast had held her still and taken a bite out of her. Her last moments must have been agony.

And he knew who that beast was, and more importantly what they looked like. He'd seen the way those men had moved towards the park, like a pack of wolves, dragging the scent of prey into their lungs greedily.

He'd seen them lingering about before, knew they were trouble. He'd felt it. But he hadn't said anything. And now this had happened.

_She looks very happy._

He stared at the lifeless bodies splayed brokenly across the floorboards, like puppets cut from their strings, toys with dried up batteries.

_Doesn't she, Eren?_

"I'm going to call the police and request for an investigation. You wait for me down downstairs, don't touch anything." He felt his father look at him but couldn't pull himself back out of his head, simply stared wide eyed at the bodies on the ground. "Do you understand, Eren?"

He understood much, much too well.

* * *

It was strange, she thought, that she was not weeping. Perhaps it had all been too quick, too unreal, her mind had disconnected from her heart, and her body was simply holding them in the same shell, together, but separate.

Her body hurt in a numb sort of way. They hadn't  _beaten_ her but they had roughed her up some before throwing her into the back of their van, her face feeling swollen, the corner of her mouth spliced, blood crusting and flaking. She couldn't feel her fingers, the duct tape about her wrists biting hard enough to cut off her flow of blood and she was cold, she was ice—and it was all just a distant blur, as they shut the rusty van doors, imprisoning her.

"Hurry the fuck up." The driver, Claude, snapped and she looked up dully when he leaned over the seat, eyeing her critically. "Your mother really was a tenacious bitch." His lips curled up, the expression too feral to be a smile, his blue eyes as pale as ice. "But at least we got you." He cocked his head at her lack of response. "Don't try to run away or you'll get something worse than your mother did."

She looked away, focused her gaze on the back of the rotting seats, broken springs torn through the orange upholstery.

_Run?_

It's what her mother had screamed at her before she'd fallen, her blood everywhere. But where could she run to? That was her home. Where could she go if not with them? Where else did she belong?

"You think Levi will be happy I found her?" She heard Claude ask the other thugs as they clambered in.

"Yeah," The man laughed, the sound twisted, awful. "I bet he'll let you suck him off right there."

She shut her eyes as they shifted the van into drive, their laughter like glass in her ears, uncaring of her fate.

* * *

_The girl is missing._

In the chaos of sirens and police lights and camera crews and reporters it had been easy for Eren to go unnoticed. His father was the head doctor for the town after all and so he was swept up into his job thoroughly, sitting him in the backseat of the car.

_The girl was probably taken…human trafficking…it's gotten pretty bad around here. It's easy to get lost in these woods._

But Eren knew these woods intimately, had wandered about them since he'd learned to walk. He knew where those abandoned cabins were. He had seen one once that had been crawling with those thugs, had made it a point to keep himself and Armin away from there.

_Finding them…getting her back doesn't seem very likely._

And he'd grabbed Hannes wrist, his fathers, every officer that had gotten near, told them where he thought they kept her but they had all their men searching the  _vicinity,_  they'd get to that cabin  _later_ , in the  _morning—_ but it would be too late, much, much too late.

_We should prepare for the worst._

Eren slid out the backseat, his knife and tape deep in his coat pockets, quickly and silently slipping away.

_It looks like we were too late._

He only hoped he wouldn't be too late to save her.

* * *

"How long are we going to stay out here?" The older thug murmured, long-limbed and rail thin, his head hidden under a dark green baseball cap.

The younger thug shrugged his hefty shoulders, seating himself on the brown decaying couch, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder carelessly. "Claude said he'd come by in the morning. We just need to wait out the night because the cops are crawling all over the streets. We didn't expect them to find out so quickly."

The thin man pulled his cap over his eyes, the nervous gesture seeming to soothe him. "Yeah. We just need to wait it out for tonight—but what if they find us?"

His friend sighed. "Paul is patrolling around. He'll be back in a few minutes. We'll take turns."

An uncomfortable silence settled about them, and Mikasa watched them dazedly, bound and sprawled across the cabin floor. Blinking was something she had to remind herself to do, and breathing was tiring, exhausting, her energy leeching with each rasp.

"You wanna know something?" The thicker thug smiled darkly, breaking the silence, gesturing for his friend to get closer, lowering his voice. "I heard that she was a runaway. She was some kind of special order for the devil himself."

The other man looked startled, giving Mikasa a look laced with doubt. "But she's just a kid."

The thug scowled. "Not her. The mother. He wanted the mother but she escaped and when Claude spotted her again he knew getting her back would be good money."

"Oh." He folded his lanky frame within on himself, sitting on a chair by the window, still touching the tip of his cap. "But we killed her."

"Maybe he'll be happy with her, though."

The men continued their bickering, muttering about how much she'd be worth, if someone would want her, how much they should ask for.

"Um, ah…excuse me."

The wooden door groaned as it was pushed open a crack, and she saw the men stiffen, their bodies coil, the voice small and meek and shaky.

The taller of the two leapt forward, ripping the door back, sending it crashing against the wall. "Not so fast, kid!" The boy crumpled a little, alarmed at the man's rage, at the way he hunched over him like an animal ready to rip out his throat. "How did you find out about this place?"

"I…was playing in the woods and I got lost. But I know my street name." The boy held his arm behind his small rigid back, his other clenched against his side. "And I spotted this house." There were tears gathering at the corners of the boy's eyes, and Mikasa dully wondered why he was crying.

That was a normal reaction, she knew.  _She_  should be crying. But corpses had no tears.

The man slowly shifted from his position, his expression softening, lowering onto his haunches. His large hand cupped the top of the boy's brown mussed hair, shaking it affectionately. "A little boy like you shouldn't be playing around in the woods. There are wolves and other animals about. But don't worry." He kept petting him. "Me and my friend will take you back. Let me get my car keys and—"

There was a soft damp gushing sound, a quiet, wet gurgle, the man's words cut off abruptly.

"Thank you, sir." The shakiness was gone from his voice, replaced with a rage that was much too dark for a child. "But I've caught on already." She saw the boy raise his other hand, shoving the man's hand away from his head, his other hand ripping a knife  _out_  of the thug's throat, blood splattering everywhere. "Now die, fucker."

The boy clasped his small hand behind the man's skull, slamming him to the ground, lifeless, his throat gutted—and the boy pulled back, shutting the door and disappearing behind it.

 _This can't be real,_ her mind repeated, the smallest of trembles beginning deep in the pit of her belly, the ache that had dissipated swelling fiercely.  _Please, no more._

The other thug rose, thwacking the couch back, wide-eyed and shaking as he grasped his shotgun more firmly, the same gun that had delivered the shot that had torn into her mother's body, her blood peppered and rusted on its side, on his jeans and coat.

"Hey…stay where you are, damn you!" The thug stumbled forward, lifting the shotgun as he tore the door open. "To hell with you…"

And then the boy was charging, running towards him with a knife taped to a wooden stick, lashing it up at the thug violently, splicing his neck and throat, burying it deep into his shoulder.

The man fell onto his back in shock, the shotgun bouncing over the floorboards, and before he could right himself the small boy gripped the small knife, leaping onto him vengefully, his large eyes blank, violent. He landed on him, cutting into the man's skin, stabbing over and over, the sounds horrible, wet, drowned out by his fierce cries and curses.  _"You fucking animal!"_ He kept stabbing, his neck, his chest, his shoulders.  _"Don't you ever fucking wake up again. You had it coming. This is what you deserve."_

Mikasa felt her body come alive again, her eyes unblinking, the breath ripped out of her lungs as she watched him finish him off with a last brutal stab, shakily wiping the blood off his cheek with his sleeve. He faced her, weakly getting to his feet, walking towards her, blood dripping from his small knife—a kitchen knife. The kind her mother had tried to use. There were still tears shimmering in his pretty eyes but he spoke calmly. "It's over now." He came closer still. "You're gonna be okay."

He reached her, his body heat touching her skin, his hands warm and slippery as he cut away the tape. Her skin prickled painfully, the blood flowing again. "You're Mikasa, right? I'm Eren. Doctor Yeager's son. I think you've already met my dad. I saw you at the park earlier…"

Her arms slid forward limply, recalling how eagerly her father had opened the door, calling out Dr. Yeager's name, the three men who'd stormed in…

Three.

"There should be three of them." Her throat ached. There had been a fourth, Claude, but he'd driven away, said he wouldn't return until the morning. The third had been patrolling and he was probably nearby…

"Huh?"

There was a sound and they both turned, finding the third man at the doorway, his eyes latching onto the dead bodies of his friends.

Eren lurched for the blade between them desperately—but the man lunged forward, kicking Eren's small body viciously, the sound of his cry strangled as he flew across the room.

"Did you do this?" The man sounded heartbroken, the crackle in his voice too human for what he'd done. "They were my friends, damn you!" He was strangling the small boy, his large hands squeezing his small throat, and she could see him struggling, see his small body squirming and no this couldn't be real—how many murders could she witness in one day before her mind finally fractured into madness?

"F-fight!" He was speaking, Mikasa realized, dogged enough to manage to get his voice out from between the man's fingers. His small hands clutched at the man's wrists, scratching, drawing blood. "You win, you live. If we can't…you're dead."

The man shook him harder, his grip tightening. "You little shit."

The boy locked his gaze onto hers.  _"You can't win without fighting!"_

She couldn't quite comprehend everything that had happened to her. But did it matter? It was cold, and cruel, and she was hollow and dead but this small boy wasn't, his eyes bright as flames, full of life, of fury, of passion, and he'd come to  _save_ her.

She gripped the small knife, gritting her teeth, seeing the struggle, trembling so hard it felt her very bones would splinter out of her skin.

But this was normal, she rationalized. Death happened every day, every moment, it leered closer with every second that passed.

That was the world they lived in; clawed hollow by cruelty, brimming with beauty. It didn't matter. That was what they were trapped in.

_Fight._

And she'd been dead and cold. But this small boy wasn't. He was life and fire.

And she didn't want him to be put out.

Her trembling stilled, her pulse slowing, evening, her vision suddenly very clear. She slid out her foot, the callused skin of her feet scraping across the wood, the board cracking beneath her heel as she moved forward, steady and hard as steel.

* * *

Eren made sure to keep beside her as his dad finished talking to the police, an unopened juice box in his hand. He'd never really liked fruit punch anyway.

He eyed Mikasa from the corner of his eye, tugging his scarf away from his mouth so he could breathe better. She had sat very, very still the entire time, even when she'd walked, or spoke—it was a little frightening, really. They'd sat them in hard plastic chairs as they'd taken his father into the interrogation room, and he struggled to find a way to reach her.

Because she looked too still. It made him feel as if maybe he hadn't really made it in time to save her.

A policeman walked over to them, his face kind, his eyes compassionate and filled with pity. "Hey, Mikasa? Do you remember me? I'm officer Hannes." He reached out and tried to grasp her hand—but she flinched, wrapping her small arms around her body.

"She doesn't want to be touched." Eren glared at Hannes, though he knew he wasn't supposed to, had been chided by his mother enough times to have his ears fall off. "Leave her alone."

Hannes looked a little begrudging, but conceded. "Ah, yes, sorry…" He cleared his throat. "Mikasa, are you sure you don't have any family to take you in?"

Her icy expression thawed, cracked, a brief and sharp flash of agony flickering through her gaze, making her shudder. She breathed in, slowly, freezing everything out again and if Eren hadn't been watching her so closely he would have missed it entirely. "No…I'm alone…I have no other home."

The officer's frown deepened. "Perhaps a grandmother? An aunt or uncle? Any name you can think of?"

Mikasa curled in on herself—and Eren had seen enough. He hopped off his chair, placing his small hands on Hannes shoulder and pushing. "I said leave her alone!"

"Hey, kid—quit it." Hannes lifted Eren, sitting him back down none too gently. "Jesus," He breathed, "what is she your girlfriend or something?"

Eren felt himself flush, the accusation ridiculous. "Leave her alone."

Hannes pressed his lips together and was about to retort when another officer stepped into the room. "Hannes?" He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "They need you."

He pressed his fingertips to the backs of his eyelids, sighing wearily, the sound bone deep and thin. "Alright." He straightened, frowning down at the both of them in disapproval. "Stay put. Your dad is almost out."

Eren continued to glower until Hannes left them alone. And Mikasa was still much too motionless.

"Mikasa…?"

She blinked slowly, and it took her far too long to fix her dull dark eyes on his.

He frowned. He supposed he shouldn't have expected an actual verbal response. "Are you okay?"

There. Surprise. It was slight and very weak, but she had had a bit of a reaction and almost as soon as it appeared on her small face it vanished. "Yes." Her voice was very frail.

He took a breath, gripping his juice box a little too tightly. Whenever he was upset or crying or, as his mother said, 'throwing one of his  _fits'_ she always sat him down and forced him to drink a whole glass of water. "Here," He fumbled with the straw, punching it through the small hole, wrinkled his nose when he spilled a little over his thumb and wrist. He held out the juice for her. "Drink it."

She didn't look at him.

He set his small jaw in determination. "I said drink it." He pushed it more insistently, forcing her to lean away. "You didn't drink the water the officers gave you." He kept following her mouth with his juice box. "And you didn't eat your crackers." She shook her head at him. "You need to eat or drink something or you're going to get sick." When she continued to fight him he grabbed at her collar. "You're alive, aren't you?" He nearly shouted, stunning her enough to make her flinch, and he pressed the straw between her lips. "So drink."

She shut her eyes, her small body trembling, her nod shaky as she drank obediently. He helped her drink the whole thing until he heard someone call his name.

"Eren?"

They both froze. His dad was standing beside them, his hair slipping lose from its tail, over his shoulder. "Eren, leave Mikasa alone."

Eren huffed a little, putting the box on the chair beside him grudgingly, wiping his juice slicked fingers on his shirt. "I was trying to help."

"Hmm," His father murmured sympathetically, helping Eren off the chair. "I'm sure Mikasa appreciates it. Come on. We need to get home before your mother gets worried." He looked at Mikasa now. "The police are going to take care of you, Mikasa. You'll be alright now."

Mikasa said nothing.

Eren frowned as his dad pulled him forward, was about to speak up when Mikasa's small voice warbled out of her throat. "Dr. Yeager…?" They all watched her silently, patiently. "Where…where will I go?" She looked so still, her eyes burned so fiercely, so brokenly. "I'm cold…I don't have any more family." Eren felt his heart stutter sorely. He'd saved her, hadn't he? Why did she look so dead then? So distant and lifeless. "I don't have a home anymore." Mikasa shut her eyes.

Eren tugged off his scarf. When he was upset his mother made him drink water. When he was cold his mother always bundled him up. But she didn't have a mom anymore, did she?

"Here." He struggled to wrap the scarf about her neck and face, covering her mouth and nose, flopping the last part about her head. There. That should keep the chill off. "It's warm, isn't it?" Only her large eyes were visible above the scarf, glimmering curiously as she watched him. "Come on." He grabbed her sleeve and tugged her forward, pulled her off the chair and onto her feet. "Let's go home. Our home."

He heard her shaky inhale, felt the way she quivered against his small knuckles. He pulled her out with him down the hall, ignored the looks from his father, from officer Hannes and the rest. He'd barely made it in time to save her—but her mom and dad were dead and gone. He couldn't bring them back but perhaps he could share his own parents with her. Perhaps he could ease the ache she felt, if only a little.

"Yes." He heard her wobbly whisper, heard the tears that weren't quite shed. "Our home."

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Grisha?" Hannes asked with a furrowed brow. "Taking in another child…?"

Grisha kept signing forms, his signature an elegant, sharp scrawl. "Eren didn't give me much of a choice."

Hannes huffed. "He's a kid, Grisha. Now, this is a small neighborhood but there are plenty of family's that would love to take in a young girl like Mikasa—"

Grisha shook his head, his expression a little tired, a little rueful. "When Eren was six years old he found a wounded stray cat. It was missing an eye and the tail looked like it had been burnt off. Eren came home covered in scratches, his clothes bloodied, because he said the cat didn't want to let himself be held but he knew it  _needed_  help." His lips curled up into a smile. "Carla refused to take it in, of course, the thing was rabid. When we tried to take it away from Eren he kicked and screamed and razed until we released him. We kept it—it was either that or rip the animal out of his arms forcefully. The cat sleeps in his room every night. His name is Hook." Grisha pushed the page away, filling out another calmly, steadily. "When Eren was eight—last year actually— he and Armin were playing in the woods. They were climbing trees when Armin fell and broke his leg." He flipped another page. "They were about a mile away from the house, and it was downhill, rainy season. Climbing back up for an adult is difficult, a  _mountain_  for a small child—but Eren lifted Armin on his back and  _bodily_ carried him all the way to the fire department." Another page. "I was working at the hospital at that time and the paramedics had to call me out of a  _surgery_ because Eren refused to leave Armin alone." He laughed a little too himself, adjusting his glasses. "I wasn't much help either. Eren stayed by him the whole time, holding his other hand, glaring at anyone that might hurt him."

He sighed wearily, affectionately, signing the last page. "I know my son." He lifted his brief case. "He's taken Mikasa in. Once Eren forms a bond with you—even if you're unwilling—his tenacity and protection knows no boundaries."

Hannes grunted, watching him slip his jacket back on. "You need to teach that boy some discipline, Grisha."

Grisha lifted his briefcase, walking away. "I rather thought we could all learn something from him, instead."

* * *

Levi had seen countless dead bodies. He'd had to touch them, bury them, cut them apart—he'd cut the very life from them more than he cared to recall. He'd murdered, almost gotten killed, experienced and caused horrors he knew were unforgivable, could drown in the blood he'd spilled—and still, this death,  _her_ death, brought him to his knees.

His heart was pounding harshly, his lungs ached for breath as he held himself up off the sidewalk, the ache tearing at him until he felt he'd fracture.

_Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck it. I fucked it up again._

He groaned, pressing his stone cut palms over the backs of his lids, rocking back and forth on his knees. He could feel the slickness of blood thickening between his fingers, caked beneath his fingernails, the blood of Claude's crushed face, his screams of agony doing nothing to assuage Levi's rage.

_You fucking killed her. How could you fucking kill her? I told you to leave it alone. You killed her._

He swallowed, a sharp pain tearing at his throat, at his lungs, his heart, his rib cage splintering beneath his skin.

 _Please,_ he begged pathetically,  _not her._

Another growl clawed up his throat, and he felt his body contort, retching violently there beneath the streetlamp, tasting the bitterness of bile, the venom of his insides, the ash of every cigarette he'd breathed, the burn of every drink, the scorch of every drug he'd inhaled, swallowed, injected—all of it poured out of him into a brown yellow puddle, spread out slowly, tinged with blood.

He retched until he was empty, and then he gagged and dry heaved until he was sure his very heart would slip from his lips.

It was minutes, or perhaps hours, but his body quieted in its spasms, and he hefted himself onto his back, inches away from vomit, his eyes staring up at the sky unseeingly.

He hadn't been able to see her—her body. The last time he'd seen her, alive, had been months ago, and he'd watched her from a distance, let the burn of smoke sift in his lungs as he lingered in the shadows. She was carrying her small daughter, her husband's arm wrapped around her thin waist intimately, holding her to him proudly as they'd watched the small thanksgiving parade.

But of course the fucker had held her proudly.

She was beauty in human form. Kindness and passion and charity. Her compassion knew no bounds—she'd even extended it to a feral dog like him back then, when starvation and illness had nearly stopped his heart.

And he'd promised he'd protect her, with every spoonful she had fed him, with every cup of water she'd lifted to his lips, with every healing touch she'd given him. He'd promised to save her from the hellhole they'd lived in, refused to let her die, even when their deaths had seemed inevitable. And what had he gone and done? He'd brought her overseas, helped her escape, let her find another, a  _good_ man, marry him, have a daughter…to have her only die as viciously as she would have back home.

How terrified she must have been.

They'd killed the husband first, had tried to take her but she'd fought, and of course she'd fought, she would do everything to protect her daughter, and he'd promised her she was out of danger, had never thought Claude would find her, or even remember her.

But he had, and he should have protected her. And he could beat Claude until he was just a shit stain on the floor but it wouldn't bring her back.

_Where's the girl?_

_I…I don't know. When we got to the cabin the cops were there we couldn't get any closer. But they were dead. I don't know who killed them but the cops took the girl, I think._

He'd snuck past the sleeping cops sitting in their cars outside the house, crept onto the roof, through a window—not her house,  _a crime scene_ —and he'd found everything in place. Sheets tucked in neatly, laundry folded, cups flipped upside down on a kitchen towel to dry, an apron,  _her_ apron…and he'd found photos everywhere. Smiles mocking him from behind their glass, and he'd pathetically, shakily taken a few, crisply folding them into his pockets, had been about to leave when he'd found the picture of her daughter.

A daughter he had held only once, only weeks after she'd been born.

 _Mikasa,_ she'd handed him her infant daughter so easily, so trustingly, hadn't cared that he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, that he was going through withdrawals, had only touched his arm as he'd looked down at the baby she'd had with another man.  _I named her Mikasa. Do you like it?_

He hadn't been able to respond for several moments, felt a storm of emotions brewing within him—jealousy, elation, relief that she'd survived the labor—but he'd only shook his head.

_No. It's a shitty name._

She'd laughed, as she always did, making him think that he'd said something clever and kind instead of depressing and snarky.

_Do you think Mikasa looks like me, Levi?_

Levi inhaled, opening his eyes, pulling himself out of the memory, tugging the young girl's picture out of his pocket, tracing it with a filthy fingertip.

 _Yes,_ he'd admitted roughly,  _she looks just like you._


	2. Chances

_~Months Later~_

Mikasa usually only spoke when necessary. She usually spoke when someone prompted her to or when Eren was about to do something rash. When she was with Eren and Armin they were usually the ones babbling away while she quietly absorbed their words.

And so, one afternoon as they'd swung on the swings at the park, her out of the blue statement had both he and Armin blinking at her in bafflement.

"I don't remember his name." She was still on her swing, her small black shoes digging into the sand beneath them. "An uncle, I think."

"An uncle?" Armin asked gently, on the swing between them, a book clutched to his lap.

Her expression was one of deep concentration, and if Eren hadn't felt so panicked he would have thought it was funny.

"I don't remember his name but I…I think I do have an uncle." She explained hesitantly.

Eren felt his chest tighten. "You have family?"

"Hm," She nodded and suddenly there was a brightness in her eyes, a brightness he rarely saw. "Mama told me he'd always protect me. But he always looked really mean. I didn't like him."

Eren watched her.  _Good._

"Why did you just remember him now?" Armin's question bothered Eren immensely.

Mikasa pulled up her scarf—his scarf—and mumbled into it. "I smelled smoke. Someone was smoking and then I…remembered that he smelled like that, too, whenever I got close to him. Like smoke and mint."

Armin's brow furrowed. "Do you think he's looking for you?" Armin tucked his corn colored hair behind his ear. "You should tell—"

Eren hopped off his swing with a huff. "She doesn't have to." He looked at them both sternly. "She said she didn't like him, right?"

Mikasa nodded.

"Then there." He grabbed Armin's sleeve, then Mikasa's, tugging them off their swings a little roughly. "Let's go."

"But Eren," Armin sounded a little breathless, struggling to hold onto his large book and trudge through the sand. "If he was supposed to protect her that means he's supposed to—"

"She doesn't need him to protect her." Eren tucked his chin into his jacket, giving Mikasa a sideways glance. "You've got me, right?" He ignored the heat blooming across his cheeks, pretended it was the bite of the icy rain beginning to pepper about them, darkening the tops of the buildings, the cracked streets.

Her eyes widened—then softened, her mouth and nose hidden behind her scarf. "Yes." Her small hand gripped his more tightly. "I have you."

He'd promised to protect her.

He'd never know how impossible keeping that promise would be.

* * *

It had taken a while for Mikasa to become truly comfortable with Eren's family. They treated her just like she was their daughter and she had  _just begun_  to feel secure when her entire world was flipped upside down.

She'd been sent to the store just around the corner to buy milk, Armin accompanying her on her way back home, when she'd accidentally slammed into a very tall man. He shoved her away hard enough to make her hit the wall, the gallon striking the sidewalk and exploding.

"Mikasa!" Armin grabbed her arm, steadying her.

She stared at the spilled milk numbly, seeing it splattered across her shoes, saw it mix with the rainwater as it dribbled down—

"What the fuck, kid?"

She looked up and felt her lungs constrict.

He pushed a breath of smoke out of his lips, glaring at her, tucking a small package into his pocket quickly, suspiciously. He had light blue eyes—the same eyes she'd seen the night her parents had been murdered. He'd been the driver of the van and she'd only seen him briefly but his face had been etched into the backs of her lids nonetheless.

_Blue eyes as pale as ice._

All he had done was drive them all to the cabin.

And then he'd left.

And it had always been in the back of her mind, something she pushed away with all of the fierceness and fear she felt but she remembered now, the words that sometimes plagued her at night.

_There was still one that was alive._

He cocked his head, and he looked much older, the bones in his face slightly disfigured, his right eye a little cloudy, but she remembered him all too well. "You look familiar."

_No, no, no._

"Do I know you? Dad or mom buy some pills from me or something?" He hunched, peering at her face, blowing smoke into her eyes, making them sting.

She shut them, shaking her head, backing away, Armin pressed against her back.

"You can't talk? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Another puff of smoke struck her and she stepped away with shaky legs. "Get the fuck outta here, stupid kids."

She stumbled, almost crashed into a telephone pole as she bolted away, yanking Armin along with her, tripping and refusing to fall until she got away, could almost feel him running behind them, could feel his breath brush the back of her neck—

She slammed into someone, a small strangled cry ripping from her throat as they fell onto her, knocking her to the ground. She kicked and punched as hard as she could, her voice gone, panic blinding her until she heard him speak.

"Mikasa—Mikasa, ouch! Stop!"

She released the grip she had on his hair and finally  _looked_ at him.

"Mikasa stop hitting Eren!" Armin yelled.

_Eren?_

"What happened?" Eren struggled onto his knees, rubbing his red cheek. "Why were you running—and why did you start hitting me?"

He stood then held out his hand to help her up. She still felt a little shaky, still felt like a string had wrapped tight about her throat and when she took his hand and let him pull her up she slammed herself into him, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

"Mikasa?" He was still, not quite holding her, not quite pushing her away. "Mikasa—why do you smell like smoke?" He grabbed her small shoulders and pushed her away, tried to look at her face. "Did something happen?"

She only shuddered and shook her head, trying to breathe.  _He found me, he found me, I walked right into him. It was just pure chance that he didn't recognize me, chance, luck, the way that I was saved by you._

Eren looked to Armin.

Armin shook his head. "Just…a scary thug."

But they both knew that wasn't it at all. Mikasa was as tough as nails, had gotten into fights with boys and girls twice her size, thugs were a regular sight about their neighborhood…and their gazes reflected their questions but they spoke none.

"Come on," Eren sighed, pulling her forward. He understood as he rarely did, that while she was tougher then he cared to admit there were moments where even she needed to be comforted, even if she wouldn't explain why.

She clung to his hand tightly as he took them back home.

* * *

"What is it Mikasa?"

She was trembling fitfully at his bedroom doorway, her pale white gown twisted, her hair bunched haphazardly about the scarf wrapped over her neck and face. "I…had a bad dream."

This wasn't an uncommon thing, Eren thought, and he wasn't surprised since she'd been a little more than shaky since they'd gotten home. He threw the blanket back. "Come on. Hurry its cold."

She nodded, shakily climbing onto his bed, curling into herself. He rolled his eyes, shifted to face the window, presenting his back to her. "You can hug me."

Her cold fingers crept around his small ribs, and she burrowed against him, pushing her toes beneath his legs. He pulled the blanket up and shut his eyes, tried to pretend he didn't feel the heat of her tears soaking through his shirt.

"You want to tell me your dream?" He asked sleepily.

She shook her head, sniffling, rubbing her nose against his shoulder. "Is…dad not here yet?"

Eren yawned, stretching. "No…he's been staying at work pretty late, huh?"

She nodded. "I…don't feel good."

He frowned, shifting, rolling over to face her. He peered at her face, tugging her scarf down. "What do you mean? Like a tummy ache?"

"No." She was still crying, silvery drops dripping off her lashes, her nose. "I mean—"

There was the sound of a scream—his mother's scream—and then he heard a gunshot tear through air, too loud, too close, their bodies vibrating.

Mikasa gasped, gripping his shirt in her fists, shoving him off the bed.

"T-that's a gun. Mikasa, that…" Eren gasped.

They both scrambled to their feet, pressing their backs against the wall as footsteps thundered down the hall towards his bedroom door.

"Move." Mikasa locked the door, ran towards the window. "Eren!" She pushed it open. "Run!"

"But my mom—"

"The other window!" She yanked on his shirt, shoving him out onto the roof, quickly snapping the window shut behind them.

They heard another gun shot and they crawled away from the window as quickly as they could, slowly making their way to the attic. They crawled in, the rain making their limbs slippery, their movements clumsy.

Eren collapsed onto his back, trying to catch his breath, his wet hair clinging to his cheeks and temples. He watched Mikasa crawl away, shoving a heavy box over the small attic door.

"Mikasa—don't! We need to find my mom."

She shook her head fiercely, her back pressed against the cardboard, soaking it. "Eren…" He'd seen her terrified before, had seen her in the midst of her nightmares, had seen her earlier when she'd slammed into him—but compared to the sheer numb horror on her features they were all nothing,  _nothing_ to the fright gripping her at that moment. "…they found me."

* * *

Armin curled up on his couch, his brow furrowed, the phone pressed to his ear tightly. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was awake, to make sure no one would see what he was doing.

The phone finally picked up.

His voice was gruff, thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Hannes?" Armin croaked, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry for bothering you at..." He glanced at the clock and flinched. "At this time but—"

"Armin?" He heard Hannes grunt and heave himself up. "What's wrong?"

"I know you only told me to call you when it was an emergency but—"  _But I just have this horrible feeling and I don't like the way that thug looked at Mikasa because almost nothing scares her but he did and he mentioned something about her looking familiar and I can't help but think this may tie in with the death of her mom and dad and maybe this is ridiculous but if there is even the slightest chance that my gut is right_ –"I was wondering if maybe you can go check on Eren and Mikasa?"

Silence.

"Why do you want me to check on them? They're probably asleep and their parents are—"

"Please." Armin begged now, shutting his eyes. "I just think something…is wrong."  _And the last time I ignored my gut Mikasa's parents were killed and she was kidnapped._

Hannes sighed. "Yeah. Alright. Go to bed."

Armin smiled shakily. "Thank you, Hannes. I will."

"Yeah."

He hung up quietly, curling onto his side, knew he'd be awake for hours.

* * *

Eren had never really thought of himself as an ignorant boy. But as he watched his mother slowly bleed to death in front of him and the men drag Mikasa away by her hair he only knew that he really didn't know half of the ugliness this world was capable of.

"You stupid little fucking bitch!" He watched the blonde man backhand Mikasa, hard enough to slam her onto the kitchen floor. He had claw marks on his face, saw blood on Mikasa's fingertips. "Just like your fucking mother—you scratch just like cats. Do you know how much trouble you've caused me?" He bent, grabbing her arm and yanking her up. "I'm not letting you escape this time." He grabbed her thumb. "I should break your damn fingers for this shit."

"Claude!" The man holding Eren rasped. "What the hell do I do with him?"

Claude snarled when Mikasa tried to kick him. "Tie him up. We have plenty of men who'd like a pretty little boy like him."

A gun fired, the sound sharp, the bullet tearing into the thug holding Eren, killing him instantly. The man dropped Eren, crumpling to the ground, and Claude let Mikasa slip through his hands, fumbling for his own gun.

"Shit," Claude threw himself on the ground, searching for where the shot had come from.

"Eren! The door!"

They turned to see Hannes outside the window, his gun drawn. Eren scrambled up, ran towards his mother's bleeding body. "Mom, get up." He tried to lift her, couldn't. "Mikasa, help me!"

She was shaking so hard it looked as if she'd fall apart but she grabbed his mother's arm nonetheless, tugging with him.

Another shot fired—this time from Claude's gun, and it grazed Eren's shoulder, sending him flying against the wall.

"Eren!" Hannes shouted again. "Jump out the window!"

Eren felt tears blind him, the pain hot and wet, tearing through his left shoulder. "We need to get mom out first."

Another shot and this one almost hit Mikasa, but she only threw herself down over Carla's bleeding body, gripping her fitfully.

"Please, get up." Mikasa whispered.

Carla reached up, touching Mikasa's hair gently. "Mikasa…" Blood dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. "Take Eren. Get him out of here."

Mikasa's face crumpled. "No."

"Mom, get up!" Eren crawled over to her, yanking on her wrist. "We need to go."

Another shot and this one broke through the glass window over their heads, sending glittering shards down over them, slicing at their skin.

"Leave, Eren!" His mother's voice gained strength, "Leave now!"

"No!" He tugged harder. "If you can't move I'll carry you. Like I did Armin. But I'm not leaving—"

Hannes suddenly reached through the window, grabbing the both of them and throwing them out into the bushes.

" _No!"_ Eren screamed, struggling against Hannes hold. "My mom."

"Go to my car!" Hannes shoved them both away. "I'll get your mom out."

Eren shook his head, his shoulder still burning. "Not until—"

More gunshots flew through the window, and Hannes cursed, dragging them farther away. "How many of them are there?" He growled.

"F-five. Four since you…killed one." Mikasa looked on the verge of retching.

Hannes lifted them both up bodily, reaching the street, using his police car as a shield. "I only brought one gun." He shoved them into the backseat. "I only have three bullets left."

" _I don't care!"_ Eren screamed, kicking and punching at Hannes.  _"My mom is dying!"_

Hannes grabbed Eren's collar, throwing him farther into the backseat, slamming the door shut and locking them in. He was about to say something when they heard a shout.

"Hey, pig." They all looked towards the shattered window, saw Claude holding up Carla, a gun to her temple. "Let the girl go or I'll blow her fucking skull in."

_No._

"Hannes…." Carla called out, her face bone pale, her eyes hard. "Take the children."

" _Mom!"_

"Carla, I…" Hannes voice strangled.

"Go!" She screamed and suddenly she reached up, grabbing Claude's gun, struggling. "Go, Hannes!"

"Carla!" Hannes was breathing rapidly, shaking. But there was only one of him and four of them and by the time he called back up it would be too late and the children…

"Fuck.  _Fuck."_ He slid into the driver's seat, jerking the car engine to life.

"Hannes! My mom!" Eren banged against the window uselessly, hitting until the skin split over his knuckles, watching as Claude put the tip of the gun back to his mom's temple.

_No, no, no._

Hannes slammed the car forward just as Claude pulled the trigger.

* * *

This was her fault. They'd been after her, if she hadn't existed, if she had let them take her the first time, this wouldn't have happened. Eren would be happy with his family and with Armin and his other friends and she'd be dead or worse but they'd taken her in and now Carla was dead.

_How could you leave her? Why didn't you save her? You're a cop—it's what you were supposed to do._

She sat numbly, Eren's screams distant, the moon leeching everything of color as Hannes parked in the parking lot of the police station, his head bent forward, his forehead touching the steering wheel.

"Forgive me, Eren." Hannes sounded sick to his bones. "I'm so sorry."

And this was all her fault but no one was blaming her.

And she wasn't crying, could only shake and breathe as best as she could.

 _It happened again._ She touched the scarf about her neck.  _Why did it have to happen again?_

* * *

"Where's Grisha?"

"He's still at the police station. He's…taking it very badly."

"What about Eren and Mikasa?"

"I'll take care of them. Their hospital bills, medicines…I'll pay for it all."

"Oh, Hannes." The nurse murmured sympathetically. "Don't blame yourself—"

"Don't." Hannes growled. "I had a chance to save her but I didn't and now she's..." A jagged breath. "Just…give me the bills. I'll take care of everything until Grisha can pull himself together."

And none of them knew it just then, but Grisha never quite managed to put himself back together again.

* * *

_~Years Later~_

This was stupid. He didn't even know why he was hiding with  _Jean_ of all people, in the janitor's closet.

"Get your ass off of me, Yeager." Jean hissed, shoving at him until his back hit a pile of brooms and mops.

"Fuck off, Jean. You were the one who shoved us in here in the first place." Eren straightened his jacket, glaring at Jean in a temper. "What the fuck are you trying to do? Make out with me?"

"Stop fantasizing." Jean ignored him, peered through the crack of the door and out into the hall between their classrooms. "It's Juro, again."

Eren scowled.  _Juro?_ "You mean that stupid football dude who got a full scholarship or something?"

"Yeah." Jean mumbled impatiently. "Now shut up. I can't hear them."

 _Them?_ "What the fuck are you talking about, Jean?" Eren tried to grab the door handle but Jean shoved at him again. "What are you afraid of him, or something? Let me the fuck out—"

"He's talking to Mikasa again." Jean snarled. "Haven't you noticed him? He's always hounding her and plus prom is coming up. I think he's going to ask her to go with him."

"Juro is asking Mikasa to…?" Eren felt himself go still, his lungs deflating. He'd seen the guy around a few times, had noticed the guy was unusually nice to him, making sure his gorillas didn't mess with him or Armin. Eren had always thought maybe he was just a nice guy but now that Jean had mentioned his interest in Mikasa…it made a sickening amount of sense.

He was trying to score points.

With Mikasa.

"Yeah, he is, the bastard." Jean muttered. " _Juro._ " He scoffed. "What a stupid name. He has stupid hair, too."

Eren swallowed thickly. No, Juro didn't have stupid hair. In fact he wasn't a very stupid guy in general. He was reasonably intelligent, athletic, tall and muscular and he always smiled at everyone which was more than what Eren ever did. He was the most coveted damn boy in the school. "Yeah, whatever, I don't care." He bent down, pretending to tie the torn shoe laces on his converse as he inconspicuously pressed his ear against the door.

" _I was just wondering if you were…if you had a date?"_

" _A date?"_

Mikasa sounded as oblivious as always and he couldn't help but feel inexplicably pleased and frustrated. He'd always sort of liked that Mikasa never seemed to notice the boys who fawned over her—Jean was really the most persistent which was why they were fighting before Jean had shoved them into the closet—but he'd always dreaded the day when Mikasa  _wouldn't_ be oblivious anymore, the day a boy finally caught her attention. And the slightest of chances that it could be this day had Eren frozen stiff.

And he wasn't quite sure why this made him feel so shitty, but it did.

Because Juro was the type of guy every guy wanted to be like. Strong, charming, good looking and ripped, who was also annoyingly nice and popular.

" _For prom."_

" _Oh."_

Eren held his breath, wrapping his laces around his fingers tightly enough to cut off his flow of blood, shutting his eyes.

" _I don't. But no thank you. I don't have…money for a dress. I'm working that day, anyway."_

Eren let out his breath, felt the blood pound in his skull harshly.  _She doesn't have money for a dress?_ She'd bought a tux for him just last week, even shoes, and he'd been embarrassed but he'd assumed she'd bought herself a dress too, hadn't thought about how much his suit might have cost, that she'd probably been unable to buy them both something to wear. But of course she'd choose him over herself, wouldn't even think twice.

" _I can give you money for a dress, Mikasa."_ Juro offered generously, his voice kind.  _"I know that it must be hard for you, going to school and working a job to support you and your brother. I know your dad isn't around much—"_

" _That's family business."_ Mikasa cut off sharply. " _Thank you, Juro. I need to get going now. I'm sorry."_

He heard her walking away and before he could even pull air into his aching lungs Jean had him pushed up against the wall, his face enraged.

"You're a fucking asshole, Eren." Jean shook him. "How long are you going to mooch off of Mikasa? You don't think it's enough that she shows up to school with dark circles under her eyes, her hands red and scrubbed raw, that she defends you from any stupid little fight you get your dumb ass into—but now you're taking prom away from her, too?"

Eren felt the truth of his words hit him square in the chest, his eyes stinging as he struggled against him. "I didn't know she hadn't bought herself a dress!" He head-butted Jean hard enough to snap his head back, landing on his heels as Jean dropped him. "It's none of your fucking business, anyway."

Jean held his nose, tried to breathe through his mouth. "Of course not. You never fucking notice all she does for you. You just take it like the spoiled little fucking brat you are. You just let her shoulder the responsibility of everything just like your useless father—"

Eren cracked his fist across Jean's jaw, sending him flying into the shelves of cleaning products, bottles and paper towels scattering. "Don't you mention my fucking dad."

He moved to the door but Jean lashed out, grabbing his ankles and yanking. Eren fell onto his stomach, and then Jean was on him, and they were punching and kicking and beating the shit out of each other.

Eren straddled Jean, trying to get him to release his grip on his hair—

When the door flew open.

Connie and Sasha stood there, a foam cup in each of their hands.

"You guys need a rabies shot, or something." Connie sipped his lime green slushy. "Or maybe some lube and condoms."

Sasha nodded, sipping on her blue slushy, pulling out her cell phone, snapping a picture of them quickly. "Blackmail." She popped the straw out of her mouth with a sly grin. "Your lover's tryst has been recorded. I demand half your lunches for the rest of the year."

Jean threw Eren off of him, scrambling towards her. "Sasha don't you fucking dare—!"

Sasha screeched, pulling Connie with her as she ran down the hall, her silky brown pony tail bobbing madly. "Bye!" They spun through the front entrance, the doors slamming against the wall.

"Fucking shit." Jean cursed, breathlessly hunching forward, his hands on his knees.

Eren sat up, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. "This is your fucking fault." He stood, his knees a little weak. "For sticking your long ass face in our business."

Jean grimaced at him. "You don't fucking deserve her, Yeager." Jean looked away, and it made Eren's stomach hurt, but the look in them told Eren that whatever Jean felt for her was much, much deeper than a stupid crush. "And if it's for her sake I'll keep sticking my nose in your business no matter how much your pansy ass tries to push me out of it."

Eren huffed, shoving Jean out of his way as he walked down the hall. "Fuck off, Jean."

"You better make sure she goes to prom, jack ass." Jean called out. "Even if you have to go to prom with your own sister."

Eren slammed the front doors open violently, pulling his hood over his head as he walked after Mikasa

* * *

"The garbage, Ackerman."

Her boss called out, and Mikasa nodded grimly, worn down to the bone. She shut off the sink, drying her stinging hands on her red apron before heading out to collect the garbage bags and hefting them over her shoulder. She stepped out the back door, making her way down the alleyway in search of the dumpster.

She'd just about reached it when she spotted a short thug leaning against the wall casually, a hood thrown over his dark hair, his blue eyes narrow and murky as he looked at her. He finished lighting a cigarette, pulling in a drag, tossing the match onto the damp pavement.

"Hey," He called.

She kept walking, lifting the rubber lids, dumping the bags into the bin. She'd seen him around her workplace for a few weeks now, lingering, his eyes following her discreetly.

"Bye."

He gave a very deep, dark chuckle. "I fucking remember when you were small enough to be carried with one arm." He breathed out a thick gray cloud, the scent acidic, minty. Familiar. "What the fuck did they feed you to get you to grow so much?"

Mikasa turned around a little too sharply, her brow furrowed. She eyed the tattoos peeking from the collar of his shirt, from the ends of his sleeves, the scars clawed white over his large knuckles, that small twitch in his face that seemed universal in all drug users. He was probably having a bad trip, because he'd never gotten close enough for her to see all these details, never spoken to her until now. Most of the rift raft around here knew not to screw with her but he was new, and so perhaps it was his turn to learn.

"Leave or I'll call the cops."

She heard him exhale again, a slight whistle rasping along with the smoke. "Cops?" He smiled at her mockingly. "They're fucking useless. They couldn't protect your mother." His words made her heart pound viciously, and she felt confusion cloud her judgment as she stepped forward. "They barely protected you, didn't they?" He shrugged, crossing a scuffed boot across his ankle casually. "Doesn't matter." He flicked his cigarette, sending bright orange embers fluttering to the ground. His hooded blue eyes gave her a very, very hard look, a chill of warning tickling the back of her neck and hands. "I'm not taking any chances this time…Mikasa." He huffed a little, smoke clouding his expression. "It's still a shitty name. Never figured out why your mother named you that shit."

_Mikasa._

"You…knew my mother?" It could explain why she felt so breathless, why he looked so familiar, a memory teasing the edges of her thoughts, her pulse pounding in her palms. Not an unpleasant memory, just an uncomfortable one.

"You could say that." He threw the cigarette to the ground. "Listen, brat...you're not safe here." He crushed it with his boot. "I need to get you the fuck out of here." He gestured to the chain link face behind the dumpster. "And I need you to not throw a fucking tantrum about it."

She stepped away, shaking off her stupidity. She was listening to a drugged up guy on a bad trip mumble nonsense, in a dark alleyway, alone. "Leave. I'm calling the cops." She brushed by him—felt his hand grab her wrist, spinning her backwards, swiftly pinning her against the wall.

She snarled, slamming her heel up towards his nose but he blocked it easily, twisting her body so that she landed hard on her knees, her wrists pinned against the wall as he hunched over her.

"There we go," He murmured, a dark amusement curling into his voice, his face inches from hers. "Just the height I remember you at."

She slid her knees outwards, taking his legs out from under him, slamming him onto his back.

"Fucking shit." She heard him mumble and before he could stand she was on him, her small pocket knife at his throat. He went still. "Good girl," He murmured. "You're tougher than you look."

"I could kill you." She murmured quietly. "It would be self-defense. The cops wouldn't bat an eye at it."

He arched a thin brow. "I bet. Just like you killed those thugs when they took you, right?" He watched the shift in her expression with immense satisfaction. "How many murders can a girl get away with before they throw her in prison, I wonder?"

She pressed the knife in deeper, breaking his skin. "How do you know so much about me?"

The amusement left him, like water down a drain, leaving only a hollow, anguished look in his eyes. "I promised your mother I would protect her." His eyes traced her features. "She fucking made me promise to protect you when you were born. Like if she fucking knew this shit would happen." He shifted beneath her but went still when she pushed the blade deeper. "Claude is sniffing out your scent, Mikasa."

_Claude?_

His eyes narrowed, oblivious to the numb horror that pushed the air from her lungs. "I'm not taking any chances." He repeated.

She couldn't quite catch her breath. "How did…how did he find me?"

"Mikasa?"

She looked up at the sound of Eren's voice, found him at the mouth of the alley, staring at the both of them sprawled on the ground incredulously.

"Eren?"

"Mikasa…" He stepped closer, still a far ways away. "What are you doing?"

She blinked rapidly—felt the thug push her up, lift her to her feet just as he got to his, his arms wrapped around her loosely.

"Put the knife away." He whispered into her ear, pretending to adjust the tie at the back of her apron. "You don't want to get him involved in this. Not unless you want it to get ugly."

Her body felt stiff, her hands damp as she discreetly slid the knife into her back pocket. "Leave." She bit out quietly, her nails biting into his wrists as she pushed his hands away from her body.

He smirked. "I'll be back, Mikasa." He walked over to the fence. "I'll give you a few days to get ready."

He scaled up the fence lightly, easily leaping over, landing on his boots gracefully. He gave her one last dark look over his shoulder. "I'm Levi, by the way." He straddled a large black motorcycle parked on the sidewalk. "I'm also your god father." He revved it up. "Lucky you." He left, leaving her shaky confused.

* * *

With the life Eren had lived, not much could really surprise him. Yet when he'd found Mikasa straddling another man in a dark alley he'd almost felt like throwing up.

He'd also felt like an idiot.

He'd watched them for a few seconds silently, his disbelief paralyzing him, thoughts and questions racing through him.

_What the hell was going on? Why was she on top him? And was she touching his neck? What the hell were they whispering to each other—and since when did Mikasa look and willingly touch any guy but him?_

"Mikasa?" He stepped forward, seeing her eyes dart up in complete surprise.

"Eren?"

He stumbled forward clumsily.  _Who the fuck is that guy? What the fuck are you two doing?_ He felt like shouting it at her, demanding answers, but his voice came out much too thinly. "Mikasa…what are you doing?"

She didn't respond, only looked at him blankly, and as she opened her mouth he saw the guy underneath her  _lift_ her up, putting her on her feet, his hands touching her lightly, adjusting her clothing, murmuring something to her, his arms around her. It spoke of intimacy.

And it made his tongue thick with rage.

The guy walked away from her, looking like one of those badly presented hard asses in action movies, scaling the fence like he was a fucking cat. He gave Mikasa this weird look, a look that made Eren want to claw the jerk's stoner eyes out. He called out something Eren didn't catch, telling Mikasa something that made her rock back on her heels.

Eren finally connected his brain back to his body, making his feet move forward just as the guy revved his huge stupid motorcycle and disappeared.

"Mikasa?" Eren grabbed her elbows, forcing her eyes to tear away from where the man had been, forcing her to look at  _him_ instead. "Mikasa what the hell was that?"

She was shutting herself off quickly, trying to retreat behind her usual cool composure. "That was—he was just—a customer."

Mikasa was a horrible liar—and where before Eren had found that fact almost endearing, it now made him want to almost strangle her. It made him want to believe those words desperately.

But she was looking away uncomfortably, her pretty dark eyes looking at anywhere but him, her hand tucking her scarf up over her small mouth and nose and Eren  _knew,_ knew her more than he knew himself, more than anything.

"What the hell did he buy?" He shook her a little, feeling rattled. "Or maybe I should ask what the hell you were selling?"

She stiffened—and he cursed himself. "No, wait, Mikasa—I didn't mean that."

She inhaled shakily. "He's just an old friend." She kept her eyes shut.

And she was still lying.

But he felt guilty enough to let it slip. For now. "Have you taken your lunch?"

She swallowed. "No."

"Good." He grabbed her hand, tugging her out the alleyway, hoped she couldn't feel the way he was shaking. "Let's go eat."

If he didn't puke before they even got there, anyway.

* * *

It wasn't that Eren didn't know Mikasa was pretty, he mused, stabbing a french-fry with a fork as he sat across the small table. He knew it more than anyone. He lived with her, for god's sake, had seen her in just a t shirt, had seen her get out of the shower in just a towel, her skin damp and dewy. He'd seen her so tired she'd passed out on the kitchen table with her mouth wide open, had seen her smile even when she was so tired she could barely think, had seen her face swollen from sleep and tears—and he knew how beautiful she was because he'd seen all those moments, had carefully folded them away in his memory, tried not to think of them, especially not in front of others.

Because he didn't know what she felt for him. Not exactly, anyway.

She loved him, he knew that, but how many times had she called him her  _family?_ And what the hell did that even mean? Could she ever look at him as a  _man_ and not just some stupid kid brother?

He didn't really know. Because he'd never seen Mikasa interested in any guys in school. He'd always rather hoped maybe it was because she felt something for  _him_. Only him.

And it had been a day of awful surprises—first Juro, then that stupid stoner in the alley.

He'd felt a little insecure with Juro because the guy was perfect, with one of those jaws chiseled out of marble, the kind of build that took way too much effort but Mikasa had rejected him anyway—but what if Eren had been totally wrong?

What if she liked guys like that thug in the alley? What if she liked tattoos and smokers and Harley's and bad boys who looked like they hadn't ate in months and who could take her for rides on their bikes? What if that dangerous shit excited her?

He was so very normal, so  _ordinary,_  their afternoons spent watching TV curled up on the couch and arguing about what they should have for dinner, the riskiest things he ever did was get into a bunch of fights he almost always lost, sometimes put cinnamon in his oatmeal.

And if she did like those kind of guys—how the hell could he even begin to compare? He didn't stand a fucking chance.

"You're not eating." She slipped the straw between her lips, drinking her usual drink of peach raspberry iced tea.

He pushed the fork into his mouth stiffly. "You haven't ate much either." The food tasted bitter. "Maybe I want to lose some weight."  _Maybe you'll like me like that._

Mikasa looked at him with the slightest of frowns. "Why would you want to lose weight, Eren?"

"Dunno." He drank his soda. "I've been thinking about getting some tattoos, too." He chewed another fry. "Maybe buy some cigs."

Mikasa put her fork down with a clatter. "Where is all of this coming from, Eren?"

He scowled, throwing a french-fry onto her plate childishly. "I don't know, Mikasa." He caved. "Who the hell was that douche bag you were rolling around with in the alley?" He felt his chest burn along with his cheeks, didn't tear his eyes away from her, reading every subtle flicker of emotion.

Her throat worked, and she looked away, out the window beside them. "He's a regular at the restaurant. I was throwing the trash out and he was there and we started talking. That's all."

His lips pressed together thinly. "And then you two started rolling around with each other?"

She still wouldn't look at him. "It's…complicated."

He pushed his plate away. "I'm done. Let's just go home." And it was infuriating but he could feel the shakiness in his throat, felt like locking himself in his room and wallowing in his own misery.

"I can't."

He exploded to his feet. "Yeah, go ahead, run off with your druggie boyfriend."

He tugged on his jacket as he slipped outside, was about to walk off when Mikasa grabbed his arm, pulling it backwards.

"Eren—"

"Don't worry about it. It's none of my business, right?" He couldn't look at her, focused his gaze on the empty street, on the way the night crept over the buildings, shadows stretching thin. "You can mess around with whoever you want, Mikasa." The words felt like knives on his tongue, in his throat, and his wrist was still in her grip. "You go to school, work yourself to the bone to help support us because I can't find a damn job, you buy me a tux and don't even think about buying yourself a dress." He let his fingers hook between hers, gripping them tightly, still facing away from her. "I want you to have fun, too." His voice was just a rasp now. "It would be selfish for me to…to want you to not see any guys."

Her fingers tightened around his. "Eren…it's not like that…with him. Or anyone."

He looked back at her now, saw her other hand pulling up her scarf— _his_ scarf—the lightest shade of pink tinting the tops of her cheeks.

Still, their fingers stayed linked.

He couldn't quite hear much over the thunderous sound of his heart, neither did he understand if she had understood what he'd been trying to say, and he didn't understand if she meant what he  _thought_. If her blush meant that she was trying to tell him that there was a chance…

But he didn't want to get his hopes up.

But he could, however selfish it was, reassure himself. "You mean you aren't…going out with that guy?" He touched the back of his head self-consciously. "Or anyone else?"

The scarf hid her mouth but he could almost swear she was smiling. "No. I'm not. I don't want to."

_Good._

"Alright." He pulled her forward, giving her a rare hug, pressing his mouth to her hair, inhaling deeply. "Let's go home, yeah? Make popcorn and watch some mystery documentaries or something."

They pulled away from one another. "Cartoons." She mumbled and he grinned at her.

" _Fine._ Cartoons."

"But Eren?"

"Yeah?"

She pulled open her sweater, showing him her apron, and he tried not to look at other things. "I need to go back to work. This was my lunch, remember?"

 _Crap._ "Yeah, sorry." He checked his cellphone. "Want me to pick you up?"

She nodded. "Nine."

He frowned. It would be late but he figured he could manage. "Alright. I'll be there."

He only hoped he didn't screw this up like he screwed everything else up.


	3. Colors

"Eren, I don't think this is a good idea—"

"Armin, I need the money. Please." Eren set his jaw, green eyes glimmering, his pride swallowed with a shaky breath. "How much can I get for it? I only got about…" Eren pulled a handful of crushed dollars out of his jacket pocket. "Forty bucks for those shoes Mikasa bought me." He wrinkled his nose. "I got only like thirty for the dress shirt. Guy swindled me." He stuffed the money back into his pocket. "How much do heels usually cost?"

Armin looked a little baffled, blinking rapidly from behind the glass counter. "Ah…I don't know. But Eren, Mikasa bought  _you_  that cell phone. I'm sure she'd rather you keep the cell phone instead of selling it for a dress she may not even…like." He looked a little uncomfortable as he finished his sentence.

Eren inhaled deeply. " _Armin_." He whined. "Pretend I'm just a regular customer walking into an electronics store (a regular customer who you've known since we were both in diapers and who carried you through the woods when you broke your leg instead of leaving you behind) who wants to sell his cell." Eren leaned forward onto his elbows, giving Armin a hard look. "How much would you offer?"

Armin pushed a breath out of his lungs, his gold bangs ruffling, tapping a pen nervously against the glass top. "Are you sure about this, Eren? You know Mikasa will probably be mad, right?"

Eren nodded firmly, sliding his phone towards Armin. "I'm getting her a stupid dress even if she erupts."

* * *

_Mikasa._

She really did look just like her mother. It had disarmed him, made his movements hesitant, his heart stutter when he'd been so very numb for so long. When was the last time he'd given a shit about anything besides getting his next fix?

_"I could kill you."_

And she would have. Her voice had held no cracks, her eyes no confliction, her knife steady. It had thrilled him, in a way that he knew it shouldn't, had made something billow within his hollow chest,  _pride_ almost.

She'd survived. She hadn't withered, hadn't become a broken, fearful creature but she'd  _bloomed,_ grown fiercer somehow, a flower that broke through the stone walls of a canyon. And yes, she looked like her mother, and like her she had held her fire even amidst the murky waters lingering about them. But while her mother had retained her softness Mikasa Ackerman was all sharp lines, lethal, powerful.

" _It would be self-defense."_

No softness. No mercy. But her entire  _being_ had changed as soon as that brat had spoken her name.

_Eren?_

Getting her away from this shit would be nearly impossible, but not completely. She just needed the right motivation.

No, Mikasa Ackerman wasn't weak.

But she had weaknesses nonetheless.

"Eren Yeager." Levi murmured to himself, the taste of nicotine still on his tongue. "Another stupid fucking name."

* * *

"Miss Hange?"

"Hanji," She corrected a little absentmindedly, adjusting her glasses as she looked away from her paperwork. "Yes?"

Eren clutched at the two prom tickets in his hand tightly, nervously tapping them against his thigh. "Ah, I was wondering…if I could…talk to you about something?" Out of all the teachers Eren had he'd always liked Miss Hange— _Hanji_ — the most, her quirkiness and kindness both fascinating and disquieting him. That and well, Armin clung to her all the time. She'd sort of been a surrogate mother to the three of them.

He knew she involved herself in her work much more than necessary, knew she stayed at the high school after hours on Friday nights, and just as he'd expected he'd found her pouring over books and papers in an empty classroom.

 _She has no husband, no children,_ he'd heard the adults whisper when they thought no one else could hear.  _She must be terribly lonely._

Eren scowled, brushing away the thoughts. She was kind and she was brilliant and she was always there to help and whether she did or didn't have a husband or did or didn't  _want_  one was none of his or anyone's concern. _  
_

"What kind of something?" She cupped her chin in her hand, still looking a bit distracted.

Eren felt his tongue stiffen.  _Why does this feel so weird?_ He lifted the prom tickets. "Well, you see…I—"

"Oh." She seemed to finally  _see_ him, the glazed look leaving her eyes, a sharpness returning to them as she looked at the tickets. " _Oh._  Eren, I'm flattered but taking a teacher to prom isn't—"

"What? No! No. I meant…I need help picking a dress." Jesus, he was screwing this up.

Hanji blinked. " _Oh._ "

Eren felt like punching himself. "Not for me."

She smiled at him sympathetically, clearly not believing him. "Of course not." She stood, sliding her glasses atop her head. "I'll help you."

It took everything he had not to turn around and walk away. And keep walking. Perhaps to Timbuktu. "I want to buy Mikasa a dress." He finally bit out, his palms sweaty. "But I don't know her size. If I ask her she'll start asking me what I'm up to and I want it to be a…surprise."

"Ah." She murmured, sitting on the edge of her desk, childishly swinging her legs, tapping the back of her heels against the wood. "I can help you with that." She grinned, grabbing her purse and keys. "How romantic of you, Eren."

Eren was baffled for several moments, tongue-tied and more than a little stunned.  _Romantic?_ She didn't question his actions at all, hadn't assumed that it was a gesture a brother would do for his sister, a platonic one. Most people knew they were adoptive siblings and so they treated them as such but  _she_ hadn't. She'd implied something more with just a simple, offhand remark. Implied that perhaps she knew that they  _weren't_ siblings at all, that they'd never been able to look at each other without an edge of wonder, that the connection they shared was born out of risky, impossible chances, of blood and shared pain, of a love that had somehow clawed it's way up despite everything that should have buried it.

A bond that was as unbreakable as family, as precarious and unsure as a first love.

_Romantic._

He looked up to find Hanji watching him with a kind, perceptive gaze. She looked at him the same way Armin did. Like they knew it all just from a glance, knew the complicated mess he felt for her, perhaps knew that it wasn't complicated at all.

And though it unnerved him, Eren decided he liked people like Armin and Hanji the most.

_How romantic of you_

"Yeah," Eren ignored the heat stinging his cheeks. "I guess it is."

* * *

 _Just scare the living shit out of him._ Levi mused to himself, sticking a piece of mint gum into his mouth. He gave the dress shop across the street a sideways, casual glance, watching Eren awkwardly fumble through the dress racks with a slim, older woman, his brow furrowed as she lifted a dress to his chest.  _He always looks like he's constipated anyway. Scaring the shit out of him might be a relief for him._

"Levi?"

He stiffened a little, disliking that someone had caught him unawares. Trying to get clean was wrecking his usually sharp senses. He turned to find a man coming out of the liquor shop he was leaning against, one eye bright bottle blue the other a cloudy, filmy color. An injury he himself had inflicted upon the rotten bastard.

_Claude._

"Levi, I haven't seen you in…years." Claude stepped towards him hesitantly, his stupid face looking apologetic, hopeful. "What are you doing here?"

And if he'd thought years would perhaps cool the volcanic rage and agony always boiling in the pits of his gut, he was very, very wrong. He bit down on the gum, his teeth clenched so hard he felt as if his jaw would snap. "I'm doing whatever the fuck I'm doing." His hands balled into fists, deeply shoved into his pockets. "The fact that you're talking to me obviously means my last beating didn't do the trick."

_That won't be a problem this time, though._

Claude took a step back—and suddenly a group of five men slunk out of the alley, flanking Claude quickly, their dull gazes fixed on Levi's smaller form.

_Fucker._

"I like you, Levi." Claude murmured, his gaze mockingly unhappy. "We used to be great together, back then, yeah? You used to be my fucking idol, you know that? You still kind of are." Claude shook his head, the pieces of dirty blonde hair sticking out from beneath his beanie lank and greasy. "When you did this to me." He gestured to his face with a dirty finger. "When you scarred me up…" He gestured to his cloudy eye. "What really,  _really_ fucking hurt me, more than anything…" He stepped closer. "Was the hate in your eyes." Closer, near enough for Levi to smell sweaty, unwashed skin, rotten breath, urine. "Because I fucking  _loved_  you." He tapped Levi's chest—and Levi snatched his wrist lightening quick. "I loved you like a brother. Like family."

"I told you not to get fucking attached to me." Levi shoved him back. "I told you never to trust anyone."

Claude stumbled a little, holding back his thugs when they moved to grab him. "Yeah." Claude sneered a little. "I remember. You taught me a lot of useful shit, Levi. Everything I did… _Everything_ that I did. Even to that precious bitch of yours…" He murmured. "Was what  _you_  taught  _me_."

Levi felt his lip curl. "If you're going to fucking kill me go ahead and try it. I'd rather have my throat slit than listen to your lecture."

Claude laughed, the sound twisted, hyena-like. "Still as bitchy as ever, eh, Levi?" Claude quieted. "We're not going to do anything to you. Even though you double-crossed us all and fucked me over—for some stupid bitch, no less—I'm still grateful for the years you took me under your wing. I would have been dead if it wasn't for you." He gestured to the street. "It's why I am where I am now. I've gotten kind of big around here, you know. Something like what you were back in the day, before you slipped away like the rat you are."

Levi leaned against the wall again, feigning nonchalance. Claude's name had gotten much, much more known, each year that had slipped by adding a notch onto the bastards belt. And Levi had known that Mikasa had left, had known that Claude was vindictive enough to go in search of her, had known that she was in danger—but it had still taken him  _years_ to get himself together. Years of snuffing pain with liquor, powders and needles. And by the time he'd gotten a grip on his shit it had taken years to find her again. And once he had found her he had he'd spent a few months just watching her, the sight of her electrifying and agonizing.

_She looks so much like you._

"I think it's kind of funny that we're both in the same town, don't you?" Claude interrupted his thoughts, his mismatched eyes hardening. "Why are you here, Levi?"

_I know you're searching for her. I know what you want. I know what you'll do to her when you get your hands on her._

Levi forced his body to relax, prying his clenched teeth apart, swallowing the gum, the taste doing nothing to mask the tang of bile at the base of his throat. "I came here to look for you." Yes, Claude was vindictive. Claude probably  _loathed_  him. But Claude had always had some moronic hero's worship for him. And yes, Claude had grown strong just like Mikasa, but everyone,  _everyone_ had weaknesses. Claude had worshipped him once. He could make the fucking idiot worship him again—if only until he could get Mikasa and himself the hell out of here. He met Claude's gaze head on, forcing his rage back, back into the deep corners of his mind. "I want back in."

Claude's brows rose, his scarred lips parting. "Back in…with us?" Claude's brow furrowed, suspicious. "With me?"

 _Surprise, surprise,_ Levi thought bitterly. "Yeah." And if he wasn't trying to stop his shaking hands from burying the knife in his pocket into Claude's neck he would have rolled his eyes at Claude's hopeful tone. "I finally got my shit together." He shrugged. "And I came here looking for you."  _Saying I was just passing through won't cut it._ He gestured to the street, much like Claude had. "And I want back in."

There were several moments of silence, and Levi watched Eren through the window discreetly, saw his fingers pause on a certain dress.

Claude stepped forward and Levi braced himself—and suddenly Claude's arms were around him, his large hand clapping his back roughly, welcomingly.

"Yeah, man." Claude kept hugging him and it took Levi everything he had to hold himself still, to not reach up and snap his neck with his own hands. "Of course you can have back in. We can be friends again, yeah? A fresh start."

_You killed her. You fucking killed her._

"Yeah." Levi couldn't quite look at him, biting back his vomit. "A fresh start."

He let Claude keep his arm around him as they all walked away.

* * *

"Isn't red her favorite color?" Hanji murmured, biting the tip of her glasses. "You know, it's the color of the scarf she always wears."

Eren swallowed. "Ah, no. Well…I don't think Mikasa has a favorite color. I think she's sick of red, though." Her scarf and her apron—things she wore everyday—were red. He saw her in red all the time. And for some really stupid, really weird reason, Eren wanted to see her in a different color.

"Well, what's  _your_  favorite color?" Hanji kept fumbling through the dress racks.

"Ah…" Eren paused when his sleeve caught on a plastic hanger, scowling until he saw the dress in front of it. It was a dark color, not quite black, the material shimmery, iridescent and silky. The skirt was short, billowy, the neckline a little more plunging than anything she usually wore and the sleeves were a sparkly black lace, something that would easily slip off her shoulders. He tugged it out, running his fingers over it. "This one."

Hanji cocked her head, her eyes all bright curiosity. "Your favorite color is black?"

Eren rubbed a gossamer fold between his rough fingertips. It was black, he supposed, but with every movement there was a kaleidoscope of colors that flickered across its surface, like the oil that pooled beneath wounded cars, black blood that reflected everything in pinks, greens and blues. It reminded Eren of Mikasa's hair under the twilight sky or the deep hours of dawn, those nights when one of them had a nightmare and they'd slip up on the roof and huddle together in silence.

The color of her eyes when she held tears in them.

Black with broken bits of brilliance. The ocean at night under a full moon. A color no one else's eyes seemed to have.

"Yeah." Eren smiled a little to himself. "It is."

* * *

Hanji didn't consider herself the most brilliant of people. She was, however, not dull by any means. She could see the thug trailing behind them as they walked to the parking lot. He was getting closer and closer with every passing second and there were no witnesses about them. The cops would get here much, much too late. "Eren?" She slipped her hand into her purse, rummaging. She handed him her car keys. "Go get in the car." She shoved her purse at him, slipping out her weapon.

"Miss Hange?"

" _Hanji._ " She corrected quickly, walking towards the thug defiantly.

"Hanji?" Eren called, struggling to hold her purse, keys, Mikasa's dress and shoes, fumbling. "What are you doing?"

The thug paused when she locked her eyes onto him, his hood cloaking his features.  _Doesn't matter,_  Hanji thought ruthlessly, gripping her small Taser tightly, clicking it on, aiming the laser dead center at his chest.

"Miss Hanji?" Eren's voice scraped out his throat. "What are you doing?" He repeated.

Eren was still a child. She was his teacher. She needed to protect him. "Bug zapping."

She heard the thug curse as she pushed down, aiming her taser as he spun, the probes shooting forward—but he grabbed her wrist, faster than she thought humanly possible, twisting her arm forward,  _lifting_ her and throwing her over his shoulder. Her back hit the pavement, the air tearing out of her lungs, pain cracking across the back of her skull. She groaned a little, her taser skittering across the damp asphalt, saw him lift his hand over her head—and then Eren slammed into him, both of them stumbling onto the pavement, hitting a parked car.

" _Fuck."_

She heard Eren curse, and she scrambled up, frantically fixing her askew glasses, crawling over to the buzzing taser.  _I need another cartridge,_ she looked about her,  _where's my purse?_

She found it thrown under her car, swiftly pulled out another, replacing it. She lifted the taser, her hands steady, seeing Eren and the thug struggling viciously. The thug suddenly pulled out a knife, swiping at Eren—and Eren fell back, using the garment bag to deflect the knife—and Hanji aimed the small red laser onto the thugs back.

_Got you._

She shot it out, the probes piercing his jacket, his skin, the popping, crackling sound of electricity nearly drowning out the man's choked cry. Hanji walked towards him, stilling holding the taser aloft as he crumpled at their feet. "Eren, get up. Get in the car, turn it on. I'll hold him here."

Eren struggled to his feet. "But—"

"Eren," She bit out sharply. " _Now._ "

He nodded, grabbing everything as quickly as he could. She watched the thug spasm on the ground, held it until the current passed. She disconnected it slowly, boldly crouching over him, peering at his features.

"Sorry, there." She smiled, was sure the expression didn't look at all nice. "Couldn't let you hurt us now, could I?"

The man struggled to speak, jutting out his chin, exposing a narrow jawline, black hair, hard blue eyes. Almost handsome, she thought, until he spoke. "Fucking…" He hissed. "…four eyes."

She chuckled, shaking her head as she straightened. "The better to aim at criminals with." She walked away from him, sliding into the car.

"Are you okay?" Hanji asked Eren, clicking on her seatbelt.

He nodded jerkily. "Are you?"

She grinned, shifting into drive, slamming down on the gas pedal. "I've wanted to use this baby since I first got it." She focused onto the road, adrenaline still flowing through her blood. "I'm  _fantastic_."

* * *

"Hannes?" Mikasa queried, her brow furrowed as she stepped out, quickly locking up her workplace.

"Mikasa." He called out, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his uniform crumpled and twisted. He held two steaming cups in his gloved hands, and he gestured for her to come towards him, sitting on the small wooden bench beneath the streetlamp. "I got you some hot chocolate."

She smiled a little, bundling herself further in her jacket as she sat by him. She took the cup gratefully, tugging down her scarf to sip at it.

"Eren is picking you up, right?" Hannes murmured, hunching forward onto his knees, his large hands cradling his small cup.

She nodded. "I got out a little early."

Hannes grunted. "I'll keep you company until he gets here."

Silence enveloped them, broken only by rubber soles scraping over gritty pavement, the distant barks of dogs, a passing car.

"How are things?" Hannes blurted, a little awkwardly. "Have you or Eren heard from your…from Grisha?"

Mikasa pulled the cup away from her heat stung lips, licking them before speaking. "No…he'll call every month or so. Eren still refuses to speak to him."

Hannes looked very bitter. "That's understandable. What did he tell you?"

She curled her legs up onto the bench, pressing her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "He said he was very busy, traveling, offering his medical services to the less fortunate…"  _But he sounded very, very shaken up. He didn't sound well at all._ "He said he didn't think he'd make it in time for prom or for…graduation."

She felt Hannes sharp gaze on her, but she held her calm, slowly placing the cup in the space between them. "Huh."

"I…" She faltered slightly. "I haven't told Eren."

Hannes swallow was audible. "Wait…I'll try to get a hold of Grisha, talk some sense into him."

She kept her eyes on the empty street before them. "I'll try." She didn't want to see Eren's green eyes harden any more than they already had, didn't want to see the bitter curve of his lips, the pain he bit back with harsh words and a careless, jerky shrug.

Hannes hand reached out, gripping her shoulder, squeezing. "Mikasa…"

She looked at his bent head, a little startled at the sudden misery that was written all over him. "Hannes—?"

"I know I'm not much." He suddenly rasped. "I'm an old man and I probably drink more than I should and I know that…I know that after what I've done—what I  _didn't_ do—I know that you probably think the worst of me."

Mikasa shook her head, her voice lost to her for several seconds. It had all been on her head, the blame on  _her_ , but no one had ever accused her, had ever resented her and she didn't understand why no one had. And more still, why she never asked this burning question, why she never dared breathe it. Perhaps because she feared that once she spoke it, gave it voice, they would realize the truth, realize that she really was the bane of their existence, the one who had ruined their happiness—and she was so, so afraid of them discovering it, afraid of what would become of her, knew she deserved whatever fate they wished upon her. "I don't—"

"But you and Eren…you guys have me." He offered, his light eyes glimmering, his smile terribly wretched. "I'll be there for your graduation. I've watched you two grow up. I kind of feel like you guys are my kids, you know."

She gripped his wrist. "Hannes."  _Why can't I speak? Hannes shouldn't carry all of the blame on his back—not when I'm the one who…_  "Hannes, it isn't your fault."  _It's mine._

"It doesn't matter." He sniffled a little, pulling away, his leg shaking nervously. "I just wanted to make sure you guys knew I'd be there. For graduation and for…prom." He wrinkled his nose at her, humor suddenly curling into his voice. "Are you going?"

Her tongue felt clumsy. "No."

He sighed. "You're lying to me. Of course you are. You're beautiful—you look just like your mother." He scowled at the ground. "You know…you know to be safe, right? You know about…" Hannes struggled through his stammer, his blush furious. "About protection? Condoms and…birth control?"

She touched her warm cheek self-consciously. "Yes." She burrowed into her scarf. "I'm not going to prom."

"Ah, you girls and your secret boyfriends." Hannes shrugged. "Who's the lucky guy? Or, ah, girl?" Hannes pulled out his phone. "I can do a full background check tonight." He tapped at the screen. "Take them for a ride along." He looked up thoughtfully. "Show them my guns. Give them a tour of the jail cells."

She hid her broken smile behind her cup. "I'm not—"

A car turned around the corner, small and black, the rattling sound of the engine familiar. Eren parked before them, rolling down the window. He looked a little disheveled, almost flustered, trying to seem composed. They both stood.

"Eren?" Mikasa called. "Eren, I texted you but you—"

"Hey, Hannes!" Eren called, a little too cheerfully. He eyed the cups in their hands. "Did you get me one?"

Hannes arched a brow. "I drank it because you took too long to get here." He gestured to Mikasa. "You should get here earlier. Leaving Mikasa waiting out here isn't—"

"Hannes," Mikasa interrupted, trying to prevent another verbal altercation between the two. "Thank you for waiting with me." She pulled up her scarf.

"Ah, yeah. No problem." He touched the back of his neck. "Take care of yourselves, alright?" He looked sheepish. "If you kids need anything just let me know."

She nodded, stepped away—and paused. "Hannes?"

He turned back. "Yeah?"

" _You guys have me."_

She embraced him, tightly, her heart thrashing viciously within her ribcage.  _Thank you._ She felt the way he stiffened, felt his confusion and she couldn't quite speak the words but somehow he seemed to hear them. He touched the top of her head affectionately, and for a moment the memory of her own father fractured into her mind, jolting her. She could almost smell him, almost pretend he was the one who embraced her in return, pretend he wasn't gone.

"Thanks, Mikasa." Hannes shook her hair.

She set her jaw, nodding, pulling away. "Good night, Hannes."

"Night."

She slid into the passenger seat, feeling curiously drained, handing Eren her cup of hot chocolate absentmindedly.

"What was that about?" Eren grumbled, sipping as he drove away.

She watched Hannes turn in the opposite direction. "Hannes said he'd be there." Mikasa burrowed deeper into the seat, shutting her eyes, her scarf muffling her words. "For graduation."

"Oh." Eren murmured. He put the cup into the cup holder between them. "Of course he is."

She yawned, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Hey Mikasa?"

She cracked her eyes open. "Hm?"

Eren stopped at a red light. "What's your favorite color?"

 _My favorite color?_ She almost asked him where this question came from, but the way he was watching her strangled the thought. They were enveloped in the soft red glow from the traffic lights, yet even still the deep green of his eyes was clear.

She watched him for several long moments, let herself sink into that hard look, one of full concentration. It was a rare thing, having Eren's entire burning focus on her, and she let it draw out for several moments, memorizing the way the green glowed beneath the red burn. Green like wet grass, damp leaves. Like jade, like glass bottles.  _Emerald,_ she almost thought, except the stones could never hold the fire his gaze always possessed, the fire he carried everywhere he went.

"Green." She whispered, lifting the scarf up and breathing in deeply. "My favorite color is green."

* * *

 _Green?_ Eren would have never guessed that color, would have probably guessed every color  _but_ that one.

He'd gotten her a  _black_  dress. What if she hated it?

 _She'll love it, Eren, don't worry about it,_ Hanji had muttered after he'd gotten off her car.

She really was a strange woman. She had said she'd call the cops as soon as she got inside her house but she'd looked oddly cheerful, had almost  _giggled_ when they'd driven away.

Eren huffed to himself. He supposed almost getting mugged in this town wasn't much of a big deal. Still, it had scared the crap out of him when the thug had swiped that knife at him. Rattled him, really. He couldn't quite quit the shaking in his hands.

Eren parked in the driveway, slowly sliding the windows up, tried to hide his nervousness. "I actually got you a present." He cleared his throat when she didn't respond, turning the car off. "I don't really know anything about clothes, or um sizes, but…" He peered at her—and went quiet.

She was twisted to her side, the seatbelt wrapped about her uncomfortably, her eyes shut, her hand curled beneath her cheek. Her breathing was slow and even, her small mouth parted, her inky lashes fanning over her ivory skin.

 _She's exhausted,_ Eren thought ruefully, slipping out of his door and making his way to hers. He opened it, hesitating for a moment before crouching in, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"I haven't carried you since we were kids, have I?" He murmured, leaning her against him, shutting the door with his foot. As he carried her into the apartment complex he became very aware of how soft she felt, the welcoming weight against his chest, the way her breath caressed his throat. Her head lolled against his shoulder, slipping back, exposing the pale line of her neck, her parted lips offered up, tempting and touchable. He cleared his throat, looking away as he entered— _his_  bedroom.

_Right. I should put her in her own bed._

Still, his feet didn't move and his arms were starting to shake, carrying her upstairs and the fight with the thug leeching him of his usual energy.

"Hey, Mikasa, do you want…to sleep in my bed? For old time's sake?"

She said nothing, no shift in her expression, not even a twitch of her finger.  _She really is beat._  He let out a breath, sliding her onto his bed carefully. No, they hadn't slept in the same bed since they'd been children—and he could recall, with a painful vividness, the last time Mikasa had tried to sleep with him.

It'd been a few nights after his mother had died and she'd stood at his bedroom door—the bedroom Hannes had offered him, hers across the hall—shaking, tears drenching her cheeks, her hair clinging to her damp skin.

" _Eren…can I stay here with you?"_

He'd been crying himself, had been filled with rage and anger and hopelessness, wishing,  _wishing_ that it had all been a mistake, that his mother was alive, that she was just hurt, he'd wake up and it would all be just a horrible, sickening nightmare. But he'd seen the bullet pass through her, had seen the horrible ripple of the bones in her face as it had, blood everywhere,  _everywhere_  and—

" _Leave me alone, Mikasa."_

" _Eren, I can't…sleep. I keep having nightmares. I keep feeling them breathing down my neck—"_

" _She wasn't your mom!"_ He'd sat up, glared at her with all of the rage and agony burning through him, his words visibly cutting her.  _"She was my mom! I'm not your brother—so we shouldn't sleep together in the same bed like we are!"_ And the sobs had shook him, fracturing his rib cage, reducing him to a weepy, broken mess.  _"She wasn't your mom. She was mine."_

And she'd left, saying nothing, her expression as icy as the night her own parents had died. And she'd never once crawled back into his bedroom, had never referred to his parents as her own, had never called him her brother.

_You're my family._

She'd put distance between them, somehow keeping herself shut off even while she hovered over him. And he regretted what he'd told her, regretted how he'd hurt her, and it had taken months for him to be okay again, even longer for him to get her to smile just once and even then it had seemed so very forced.

And though he had nightmare after nightmare, even when he'd heard her soft cries from across the hall, she'd never once asked him to hold her again.

And it had left him feeling a little bitter.

Angry at himself.

She shifted over his mattress, her scarf—his scarf—wrapping about her face completely, making him smile a little.  _She's going to smother herself,_ he thought, slowly unwrapping it, tugging it out from underneath her head—she woke, her hand gripping his wrist reflexively, her nails biting into his skin.

"Ouch, hey, Mikasa—cut it out."

She blinked, inhaling shakily, prying her nails out of his skin. "I'm…sorry." She sat up, looking about them in confusion. "Why am I…here?"

 _Crap._ "Ah, you fell asleep in the car and so I carried you up. I know my room is warmer than yours so I thought you'd like…staying here for the night."  _That's such a shitty excuse._

She slid her legs over the edge of his bed, rewrapping her scarf about her neck and mouth. "Thank you, Eren." And suddenly she was all ice, as distant as the moon—like she had the night he'd screamed at her. "My room is fine. Thank you for carrying me." She stood. "Good night."

His hand shot out of its own will, his fingers wrapping about her wrist. "Mikasa, I.."  _Fuck._ "I want you to stay."

She turned to look at him, her ice thawing, her expression openly confused, quizzical. "Stay?"

She looked so bewildered, so baffled that he'd ask her to stay with him that he almost wanted to head butt her.  _Does she really think I hate her that much?_

"Yeah. In my room and…my bed." He swallowed, her words replaying in his head.  _He's my family._

"Do you feel okay?"

He deflated. "Mikasa, I don't have a fever." He brushed her hand away from his forehead. "Do you want to stay or not?"

Her dark eyes searched his intently, and he wondered if she could see how badly he wanted her to stay, how badly he regretted what he'd told her all those years ago, how many times he'd almost slipped into her bed. He wondered if she could read what she made him feel. If she could see how confusing it was. How clear it all was when she looked at him like that.

"Yes." She looked away. "I want to stay."

Relief and anxiety broke through him in equal measure, and he smiled, a little hesitantly, tugging her towards the bed. "Alright."  _Fuck, I'm shaking._ He released her hand, removing his jacket and throwing it across the room. "I'm going to go brush my teeth and stuff."

She nodded and he quickly slipped into his bathroom, leaning against the door in exhaustion.

_What the hell am I going to do now?_

* * *

Mikasa didn't remember much after Eren had left. She only remembered sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, kicking off her shoes and pulling off her sweater—and not much else. She'd felt so tired, too tired to be nervous, the week, months of working late hours and attempting to catch up on schoolwork and waking up early, of taxing her mind, her hands her back crashing down on her. The few times she'd been able to sleep her mind had been restless with nightmares, waking her constantly, nearly driving her mad with exhaustion.

And she'd sunken into Eren's bed, his scent enveloping her, the sound of sink water as he brushed his teeth soothing, and she let her eyes shut, breathing in deeply—and let herself sink into slumber gratefully.

* * *

Eren muffled a curse as he slid down the hall, the phone's rings amplified by the silence enveloping their apartment. He fumbled as his socks slid across the pale linoleum, nearly dropping the phone as he lifted it.

"Yeah?"

"Eren?"

"Hey, Armin." Eren pressed the phone to his ear with his shoulder, punching down the ringer. "What's up?"

"I was just checking how the dress shopping went."

Eren cursed, remembering he'd left the dress and shoes in the trunk of his car. "It went okay, I think. Hanji went with me."

Armin paused. "She went with you?"

"Yeah." He could hear a little disgruntlement in Armin's voice, jealousy perhaps. "Good thing, too. We almost got mugged except she pulled out a damn taser and zapped the guy."

"What?" He could hear Armin drop something, a spoon it sounded like, chinking against a bowl. "Eren, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. He pulled a knife on me but she zapped him before he did anything." He didn't exactly feel like mentioning how he'd mostly just fallen and cussed and used a  _dress_  as a shield.

"Eren, you need to be more careful! How is Hanji, though? Was she hurt? Did you guys call the cops—?"

"Yeah, she's fine. She was actually weirdly happy afterwards. Like she got off on electrifying the poor bastard." Eren yawned. "I think she called the cops. I don't know. I didn't want to tell Mikasa because, well, you know." He rubbed the backs of his eyelids. "What about you? You get home okay?"

"Yeah." Armin answered, sounding oddly energetic. "You're tired so I'll tell you in the morning, but Eren—I met someone today."

Eren perked up at that. "Met someone?"

"Yeah." And Armin was definitely smiling now. "She's a little close mouthed but I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

"You can tell me now." Eren was definitely curious, almost a little worried.

"No, it can wait. Meet me tomorrow morning at my workplace—maybe I'll introduce you to her. She's my…friend."

Eren yawned again. He'd tease him tomorrow. "Alright. Fine. 'Night, Armin."

"Goodnight, Eren."

* * *

" _You scratch just like cats." Claude whispered, sliding the knife over her neck, drawing a line of blood. "Tenacious bitches."_

_And suddenly Claude moved away, and she looked across the room, saw Eren bound and gagged, his face horrible bruised, one green eye barely visible as he stared at her, on his knees, at their mercy._

" _I'm sorry, Mikasa."_

_Levi stood behind him, grabbing a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat. "I told you, didn't I?" He held up a large knife over Eren's helpless form as he threw the words at her, the blade sharp and glimmering, a fang waiting to plunge into his heart. "You should have come with me. You got him involved in this." His blue eyes held no mercy, no hesitation. "You let this happen."_

_No, no, please, don't hurt him._

" _Mikasa," Eren spoke through the cloth tied between his teeth. "It's okay."_

_No, no, no._

_Levi lifted the knife, his eyes never leaving hers as he plunged it deep into Eren's chest, puncturing his heart, the sound wet, tearing, horrible._

_She screamed his name, feeling the wound rip through her own heart, reached for him—_

Mikasa woke with a cry cutting out her throat, her hands lashing out—felt someone pin her down, struggled viciously.

"Mikasa!" Eren was crouched over her, his green eyes wide and startled, his dark hair falling over his brow. "Mikasa, it's okay." He soothed. "You're okay."

She clamped her hand over her mouth, muffling her sobs, turning away—but he didn't let her, only held her down beneath him, his hand pulling hers away from her mouth. He tugged her up, wrapping his arms around her tightly, his hand clasping the back of her head as she buried her face into his neck.

The sobs wracked her body, her nails digging into the backs of his shoulders, breathing nearly impossible. "Eren," She shut her eyes. "I didn't mean to."

He rubbed her back. "Didn't mean to what?" He shook his head. "Never mind. It was just a bad dream, Mikasa. I'm okay." He pulled her head away from his throat, clasping the sides of her face with his large hands. "See? I'm good."

Her face crumpled again. "I don't want to leave you."

He frowned.  _Leave?_ "What are you talking about?" He sat back, watched her shakily wipe her scarf over her face. "Why would you leave?" His voice sounded curiously high pitched, as if he didn't quite believe the words she'd spoken. "What do you mean leave, Mikasa?"

She shook her head, letting her hair inky hair curtain her features. "It was just…a bad dream." She forced herself to breathe evenly. "I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

He watched her darkly for several moments, then very slowly, very carefully, slunk to his side, facing away from her. He peered at her over his shoulder. "You can…hug me if you want."

Her shaking stilled, memories of their childhood flitting through her. She wiped at her damp face again, blinking rapidly.  _Should she?_ He'd been awfully kind to her, and she'd only disturbed his sleep, made him carry her when she knew he could barely lift Armin—or at least, when they'd been children.

But Eren had grown quite a bit in the past year, shoulders broadening, his jaw hardening, his hands spanning wide, engulfing hers. She'd known because it had been troublesome to get him clothes, having to buy larger ones within a few months, his shirts becoming ever longer and looser on her fit form.

And she'd seen a few girls' eyes linger on his arms, on his mouth, batting their lashes at him, and Eren was as oblivious to it as always but it had worried her nonetheless. She bothered him, she knew, had felt his resentment whenever she protected him—wondered if he'd find a girl that was softer than she was, smaller, fragile and delicate.

" _It would be selfish for me to…to want you to not see any guys."_

She still didn't know in what way he meant it, didn't want to overthink it, knew doing so would only confuse her so much more than she already was. She only knew that her heart had pounded so hard it had felt as if it'd crack her ribcage, felt it pulse within her throat. She wondered if he'd seen how very precarious he made her feel, wondered if he saw that he was the only boy who could make her feel so deeply.

The only one who could make her not so sane, the only one who kept her anchored.

"Are you going to hug me or not?" Eren grumbled.

She smiled, slowly slinking up behind him. She wrapped her arms around him tentatively, felt his heart pound beneath her palms, her own heart answering to the beat of his. She pressed her face to his back, nuzzling, smiling.

"This feels different from back then, huh?" His voice quivered.

She nodded. "You're a lot bigger now."

He grunted. "I'm trying to slim down."

She made a soft sound of amusement. "I like it." She felt heat prickle across the back of her neck, the tops of her cheeks. "You feel…strong."  _Safe. Like home._

His hand clasped over hers, pressing her damp palm over his thrashing heart. "Good."

She fell asleep smiling.

* * *

"Man," Claude hissed, looking at Levi's bare back with a grimace. "She got you good. You really are getting old." He barely dodged the cup Levi threw at him, the cup striking the passed out man on the couch instead, so deep in his drug induced coma he didn't even flinch. "You want some pills to knock you out?"

Levi gritted his teeth, shaking his head, his hands gripping the edge of the sink, his reflection broken in the fractured restroom mirror.  _Fucking bitch,_ he breathed through his nose. "I just need to hide out here for the night. Until the cops go back into their fucking pigpens. She got a good look at my face."

Claude nodded, grinning maliciously. "Yeah. You can sleep in the room across from my daughters."

Levi paused at that, his neck cracking as he frowned at Claude. "Daughter?"

Claude grinned. "Yeah." He stepped back, looking down the hallway, whistling as if he was calling a dog. "Come here, sweetheart."

A small girl stepped towards Claude, her blonde hair and blue eyes the same color as her fathers, her gaze curiously dead, her nose sharp. She looked at Levi as if he were a piece of distasteful furniture, unwelcome but _there._

"This is my little girl." Claude wrapped an arm around her. "I taught her everything I know. She helps her old man out quite a bit—she's better than most of the guys I know." He ruffled her hair. "Levi, this is Annie."

She waved at him apathetically.

He merely watched her. "You go to school?"

"Yeah." She shoved her hands into her pockets. "Barely started out here."

Levi nodded grimly, his stomach tightening uncomfortably. He could ask where she went to school but he  _knew,_ felt the answer hanging in the air between them, the tingle of his prickling instincts on his fingertips.

Annie looked up at her father. "Can I go now?"

Claude laughed, hugging her. "Yeah. Go to bed." He looked at Levi as she walked away. "Don't screw with her." His voice lowered. "She's more dangerous than she looks."

Levi pressed his lips together tightly, knew that he'd have to move much, much faster than he'd originally planned. "I bet."


	4. Misconstrue

Eren woke feeling Mikasa slip away from him—his fingers gripping her wrist reflexively, keeping her arm slung over his chest.

"Eren—"

He cracked an eye open, yawning as he looked over his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

She smiled at him—and it was warm, happy, an expression she rarely ever gave and he tried to memorize it as best he could. Why didn't they sleep together more often?

"I need to go to work."

"Oh…yeah." He yawned again, releasing her wrist reluctantly.

She sat up, arching her back as she stretched, drawing his eyes to her body, making him feel unpleasantly warm. Her shirt slid up, the band of her jeans slipping lower, exposing her soft skin. It would be easy to reach out and touch her, he thought suddenly, to tug her back towards him and get her under him. He'd often found himself wondering what it would be like, to taste her mouth and find out what it felt like to be inside of her, to hear her moan, to have her splayed and open beneath his palms.

To have her look at him the way he'd always wanted her to.

He rolled over onto his stomach and cursed himself.

She glanced at him from over her shoulder as she stood. "Do you mind if I use your shower? I'm running a little late."

"No," He cleared his throat. "Go ahead. I'll make us some breakfast."

She left her sweater and scarf on her side of the bed and as soon as he heard the water turn on he pulled himself up, raking his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his raging hormones.

 _This is so stupid._ Eren grabbed her scarf, balling it between his hands, scowling at the worn fabric.  _What would she have done if I had reached out and touched her? Would she have let me? Would she have pushed me away?_

He stood, grabbing her scarf and sweater and tossing them into the small, banged up dryer in the hallway. He set it for fifteen minutes and then walked over to the small cramped bathroom down the hall, wishing she'd let him use his bathroom before she'd gotten into the shower.

It was the only apartment with two bathrooms—or well, one and a half, and this one was more hers than his. This bathroom didn't have a shower, the sink small and cracked and chipped, the mirror small and stained, burned at the bottom right edge.

As he washed his hands he noted the sparseness of her sink counter, a small tube of cinnamon toothpaste and probably the tiniest bottle of purple perfume he'd ever fucking seen. He dried his hands, lifting the tiny violet glass bottle, saw the small sticker on the bottom that showed the price—ninety nine cents.

He also saw that it was empty.

He gripped it tightly, his chest burning as thoughts assaulted him. What if Mikasa liked stupid girly things like these? What if she saw little baubles and perfumes and lotions and those glittery things girls their age always wore and wanted them for herself, but couldn't because she had to support them both?

He'd seen her admire a pretty dress once or twice, seen her pause mid step, her fingertips twitching as if she yearned to reach out and touch it.

But she never once complained. She never once told him anything. She never did. And she'd been ready to give up prom for him.

And she would have never said a damn word.

He didn't really know how long he stayed there, glaring down at the stupid perfume bottle, but he only came to when he heard Mikasa exit his bedroom. She spotted him in her bathroom, the door swung wide open—and they both froze.

Her hair was still dripping wet, slung over her chest, a dark purple towel wrapped about her damp, bare body, her legs and shoulders exposed to his gaze. She usually showered every morning before he ever woke, dressed in the bathroom—but she'd woken up late, had been in a rush, and he hadn't ever quite seen her so bare.

Hadn't just been in bed with her, too.

"Eren, I…" She blushed furiously, tightening her grip on the towel self-consciously. "I thought you would be in the kitchen."

It took several moments for him to speak. "I needed…to go to the bathroom."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

He swallowed thickly, putting the bottle down. He walked towards his bedroom, towards  _her_ — much closer to her, could smell the scent of his soap and shampoo clinging to her.

"You smell like me." His words were a rasp.

She looked away. "I…ran out of shampoo."

"It's fine." It did funny things to his insides, and a part of him admitted that he enjoyed that she smelled like him.

"Hey, Mikasa…?" He gripped the doorknob, tried not to think of how she was within arm's reach, of how easy it would be to tug the towel away and bare her to his gaze, to pull her into his bed. He really, really didn't need to think of Mikasa naked because he really, really wanted to. "I, ah, have something for you."

She sounded surprised. "Something for me?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He opened the door. "I'll show it to you before you leave. You just…get dressed."

She blushed fiercely. "Okay."

He shut the door behind him, leaning against it weakly.

* * *

By the time Mikasa finished getting ready she could smell the food Eren was cooking. She rather enjoyed that Eren went out of his way to make her food—that he made sure she didn't skip a meal, following her with a bowl of food if he had to.

It reminded her of when they were children, of how he'd forced her to drink out of his tiny juice box, of how he'd wrapped her with his scarf.

That he cared.

She smiled a little to herself, tucking her hair behind her ear as she slipped out of her bedroom. She'd just made it into the kitchen when she saw the apartment door open, Eren entering with a large garment bag and a shoe box.

She frowned. Why had he gone outside? "Eren…?"

"The food is on the table." He put them on the couch, rubbed his hands together for warmth. "It's cold as fucking Alaska out there."

Mikasa ignored him. "Eren, what is tha—?"

"Let's eat, yeah?" He ushered her into the kitchen, swiftly sitting her down in a chair. He sat next to her, sliding their bowls over. She kept giving him little frowns but he dubiously ignored them. "So," He spoke mid chew. "I have some bad news."

She put her fork down. "Eren—"

"Keep eating or I won't tell you." He bit into his toast, and she watched his sharp white teeth cut off a piece neatly, his jaw working as he chewed.

She forced herself to keep eating, a knot of apprehension in her stomach.

"I sold my cell phone."

She dropped her fork again, disappointment burning her tongue. "Eren, I—" She shut her eyes, tried to think logically.  _I worked so hard to get us both phones._ "Why did you sell your cell phone?"

Eren swallowed. "I wanted to buy you something." He eyed her fork pointedly. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry—"

"Eat."

She flushed, lifting her fork to her lips robotically.

"You have no right to be mad at me." His green eyes were hard, glinting in the morning light. "You didn't tell me you weren't going to prom."

Her eyes skirted away from his. "I don't want to go—"

"Bullshit." Eren bit out. "That's fucking bullshit and you know it, Mikasa. I hate it when you pull this shit." His anger—mostly self-loathing—bubbled up in full force. "You act like you're a single mom and I'm your damn kid and you sacrifice yourself for me—without even telling me what you sacrifice." He exhaled sharply, Jean's words ricocheting within his skull.

" _You never fucking notice all she does for you. You just take it like the spoiled little fucking brat you are."_

"You shouldn't have sold your cell phone—"

"How does it feel?" Eren pushed his plate away from him, eyes fixed on her. "When someone you love sacrifices something of theirs for you? It feels like shit, doesn't it?" He swallowed hard. "You're going to prom."

"I can't."

"I already bought you a dress and shoes—and I have the tickets."

"I can't go."

"You can and you are."

Mikasa looked away stiffly. "I'm working that weekend."

"Switch with someone else."

"Eren, I  _can't_."

Eren exploded. "Why the fuck—?"

"I need the money to make rent." She admitted quietly. "I'm behind two months. If I'm behind another month they'll kick us out. I can't switch a weekend because if I do I won't make it."

Eren went very still. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shut her eyes, knowing what was coming. "Because I can handle it. You don't need to worry about it."

"Of course you can." Eren stood, tried to stop his shaking. "I'm just a fucking kid, right? I can't handle that kind of stress." He shook his head, fists clenched. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Eren…"

He walked away, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him.

* * *

Levi was just slipping down the hall when he passed by Annie's bedroom, hearing her father croon to her sickeningly.

"You know your daddy's little girl, right Annie?"

Silence. Levi leaned forward, peering through the crack of the slightly open door, seeing Claude sitting on the edge of her bed, Annie standing before him silently.

"You know that you can't trust anyone but me, right? You know that. What have I always told you?"

Annie took very long to answer, long enough that Levi had almost thought she wouldn't. "Treat the world like it's my enemy."

Claude nodded, grinning, the scar on his face twisting grotesquely. "You'll do this for daddy, won't you? I can't depend on anyone else but you."

Annie hesitated—but nodded stiffly. "I will."

And Levi didn't know what Claude wanted her to do, but from the grim look on her face he knew it was very, very bad.

* * *

Eren jumped out of the shower quickly, wrapping a towel about his hips, his wet feet nearly slipping over the linoleum. He grabbed the ringing phone and pressed it to his ear, his hair making the plastic slippery.

"Yeah?" Why the hell hadn't Mikasa answered the phone?

"Morning, Eren."

"Hey, Armin." Eren looked about the apartment, searching for Mikasa. "We still doing that thing?"

"Yes." Armin sounded terribly excited. "I just finished talking to her. I just wanted to make sure you'd remember. Also…" Armin cleared his throat. "Do you think you can pick me up? I thought it would be nice to pick her up from her place instead of making her walk. Especially in our neighborhood."

"I'm taking Mikasa to work right now but I'll pick you up right after." He kept searching for her, seeing no sign.

"Alright!" Armin chirped. "See you in a few."

"Bye." Eren hung up the phone, slipping towards the living room. He saw the garment bag and shoe box untouched—her apartment keys missing from the hook beside the door. Her cell phone was on the kitchen table with a small note beside it.

_Keep my phone until I can afford another one._

She'd left. Walking. Of course she had.

He grabbed her phone, squeezing it in a small fit of rage—when suddenly the screen lit up, a notification of four missed calls and two voicemails. He frowned, punching in her password and pressing her small phone to his ear.

" _It's Levi—you need to answer your damn phone, Mikasa. We need to talk. You can't deal with this shit on your own. I'm offering you my fucking help you ungrateful brat."_

It beeped, switching to the next message, the curt voice somewhat familiar, his stomach knotting. Levi?

" _If you won't answer your phone I'll go talk to you personally—even if I have to fucking wait in the alleyway again."_

Eren blinked as the phone beeped again, the robotic voice informing him that was the end of her new messages.

The alleyway.

The thug she'd been rolling around with.

Levi. That was his name.

_You can't deal with this shit on your own._

Was he helping her? Was she letting him? What were they to each other? And when the hell had he gotten her number?

"Fuck." Eren felt close to snapping. " _Fuck."_

* * *

"Most godchildren are happy to see their godfathers." Levi mused, hands shoved in his pockets.

Mikasa didn't have the patience to deal with him today. She kept walking, scarf bundled about her mouth as she quickly made her way down the sidewalk. Her workplace was just a block down—if she could hold onto the unraveled shreds of her patience until then she'd be fine.

"You didn't answer your phone." Levi followed behind her, his features twisted into a scowl. "Why do you fucking kids have damn phones if you aren't going to answer them?"

Mikasa's steps faltered. "How did you get my number?"  _And when?_

Levi gave a small huff of dark amusement. "I know where you live, where you work, your school. Getting your number was child's play—"

She whirled on him, grabbing his collar and slamming him against the wall. "Don't." She growled quietly. "Don't you come near our home."

Levi arched a brow. "Still protecting that brat, I see."

Her grip on his jacket collar tightened, the scent of smoke and mint clinging to him. "Don't come near him."

Levi watched her carefully, dark blue eyes scanning her features curiously. "If you want to keep him safe…then leave with me."

She dropped him, continuing her brisk pace away.

"You're going to fucking regret it." He called after her. "You won't get it until you have him dead on the fucking ground. You won't have anyone else to blame but yourself."

She kept walking, shutting her eyes as the sound of her thrashing heart drowned out his ruthless words.

* * *

Eren and Armin eyed the two very, very large men standing before them with slight trepidation.

"I'm Reiner." The shorter, bulkier of the two grinned, holding out his large hand to Eren.

Eren grasped his hand, grateful when he didn't crush it into mush. He was built like a bull, his shirt much too small for his thick frame, his biceps probably bigger than his head. But his smile was easy, his hand shake loose, friendliness radiating off of him in waves. He shook Armin's hand next then gestured to his tall friend.

"This is Bertolt."

Bertolt was very tall, a bit lanky though he couldn't really tell from the looseness of his clothing, his skin darker, his hair black.

"Ah," He held out his hand, wide palms and long fingers. "Hello." He seemed a little nervous.

"Hey." Eren shook his hand.

Armin smiled up at him kindly. "You two are Annie's friends?"

They nodded. "Yep." Reiner looked over to Annie, who was eyeing the restaurant in dismay as she slid into the booth beside Bertolt. Eren had dragged them to this restaurant, both because it was cheaper and because he'd be damned if he let Mikasa think leaving the way she had was okay.

And he wanted to see if he'd find her with  _Levi._

"We go way back, don't we Annie?" Reiner smiled at the slight blonde girl.

She looked at him a little apathetically as he slid in beside her, her small frame dwarfed completely between the two large boys. "Don't remember."

Reiner's smile faltered a little. "So," He cleared his throat, watching as Eren and Armin slid into the seat opposite them. "Never been here before."

Armin smiled again. "Most of our friends work here."

"Do they?" Reiner perked up at that.

They began small talk, Reiner, Armin and Eren doing most of the talking. Sasha came over and served them their food within a few minutes, plucking a few fries off of Eren's plate and joining their chat for a minute before her manager glowered at her and she scampered away.

Eren was a bit distracted throughout the conversation, his eyes continuing to search for any sign of Mikasa. He knew she usually stayed in the kitchen though, washing dishes and taking out the trash and doing the heavy lifting.

By the end, Eren found he wasn't much hungry at all.

"So," Reiner suddenly began. "Eren, you into any sports?"

Eren bit into his burger, his stomach turning unpleasantly. "No. Well, I tried for the football team."

Reiner frowned. "Didn't make it?"

Eren swallowed. "Not exactly, I just…" He sighed. "I got into too many fights."  _Fucken Jean._

Reiner laughed. "You're a fighter, eh? I'm pretty good myself. Was in a few wrestling teams since eighth grade."

Eren observed him silently, wondering who'd be stupid enough to want to wrestle with such a beast of a boy. In spandex. "I bet you won most of them."

Reiner grinned. "I did. Bertolt was pretty damn good at it, too."

Bertolt smiled a little sheepishly. "Not as good as Reiner."

Eren took another bite, wiping his mouth with his napkin and eyeing Annie. "What about you?" He put his napkin down. "Any sports?"

She looked up at him, blue eyes blank, the silence stretching uncomfortably until Armin intruded quietly.

"Annie is a very good fighter." Eren looked to Armin—they all did—and the look on his face made Eren give pause, but Armin only had eyes for Annie. "Aren't you, Annie?"

She looked surprised for the briefest of moments—and then she looked away, all stone. "Move." Annie suddenly commanded Reiner.

"Wha—?"

"I need to go to the restroom." She informed them, not a hint of softness in her voice, looking ready to throw him out of the booth.

"Ah, yeah, sure." Reiner got up quickly and Eren marveled at how such a small thing could command two large men so effortlessly.

Eren leaned towards Armin, whispering quietly. "What the hell was that about, Armin?"

Armin flushed a little. "I just said something I shouldn't have, that's all."

* * *

Annie slid into the bathroom stall and slunk down to the floor gratefully, tossing the now empty, coin sized plastic bag into the toilet and flushing it, the rush of it hitting her swiftly.

She hated this. She didn't want to talk to them, didn't want to get to know them, or become their friend.

Armin was as gentle as they came, kind and intelligent and observant. Eren was energetic, spoke too loudly sometimes, expressive and full of life and—

There was a good chance she'd have to kill them both.

* * *

They all slid off their seats and were about to pay, arguing over how they'd split the bill, when Sasha popped back out again.

She smiled at them. "You guys done?"

"Yeah." Eren stepped a little closer to her, jumping at the chance, lowering his voice. "How's Mikasa?"

_Why hasn't she come out to say hi?_

Sasha blinked at him, putting her plastic bin on their table, deftly placing their dishes within it. "She's a little quieter than usual." She plucked at the leftover food on their plates and Eren glared at anyone who gave her disgusted looks.

She'd done it since she was a child.

"Did you two get in a fight?" She spoke as she chewed.

Eren shoved his hands in his pockets. "Sort of." He ran his thumb over her cell. "Hey, Sasha has she been…hanging out with anyone else?" He swallowed. "Anyone weird?"

Sasha shook her head, shiny brown pony tail bobbing. "Only weirdo's she's been hanging out with are me and Connie."

"I'm weird?" Connie called, somehow hearing her from across the restaurant.

Her grin brightened. "Get back to work, Springer."

He smiled at her "We aren't even married yet and you're already bossing me around."

She giggled, shaking her head as she stacked the plates, her cheeks flushing prettily as he left back into the kitchen. She looked at Eren mischievously. "He asked me to prom."

Eren smiled, a little envious. "About time."

She stuck her tongue out, popping another French fry in her mouth. "When are you going to ask—?"

"Are you eating my food?"

They both turned at the sound of the quiet, hard voice.

Annie stood behind them, blue eyes locked onto Sasha's ketchup stained fingers.

"Ah," Sasha dropped the fry, laughing a little nervously. "I thought you guys were done, so I—"

"You stole my food." She murmured, deadly soft.

"I'm…sorry."

Annie grabbed Sasha's wrist, twisting her arm behind her back, Sasha giving a small shriek.

"Hey, Annie, stop! She thought we were done." Eren lunged forward—she shifted, lightning quick, dropping him onto his back, Sasha managing to slip out of her grip.

"I paid for my food." Annie followed after Sasha predatorily. "And you're eating it?"

Sasha gave a little whimper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Annie swung her fist—Sasha grabbed a dinner plate, using it as a shield, Annie's fist cracking it neatly in half.

"Ah, Miss, please." Sasha squeaked.

She swung again, and Sasha barely managed to grab another plate in time, twisting away.

"Annie!" Armin moved towards her—but Reiner grabbed him.

"When she's in a fury nothing can stop her." Reiner shook his head, looking grim. "You'll just get hurt."

Eren sat up, struggling to stop the dizzy swaying of his head. "Annie!" Eren shouted, rising to his feet, seeing the people in the diner beginning to scurry away as they crashed into tables and chairs. "Annie, stop!"

Sasha barely dodged another punch, her back striking the wall as she bumped into the jukebox. "Miss, please—!" Sasha raised her hands as Annie moved to strike again.

Annie swung, Sasha trapped against the wall and the jukebox—and suddenly Mikasa was there, catching her fist, the heel of her hand slamming into the bridge of Annie's nose viciously.

Annie stumbled back, Mikasa's sudden strike leaving her reeling.

Mikasa stepped between them protectively, her dark eyes curiously dead as she watched Annie. "Get out."

Annie locked gazes with Mikasa. "She ate my food."

Mikasa didn't look away. "Get. Out."

Annie stepped towards her, her nose a little bloodied. "Move out of my way."

Mikasa widened her stance.

Annie took it as a welcome challenge, raising her fists.

Eren skidded between them. "Hey, stop." He looked to Annie. "Annie these are our friends."

"I don't care."

"Move, Eren." Mikasa murmured.

Eren gritted his teeth. "You guys need to fucking  _stop._ "

Annie shot forward, her fist connecting with Eren's abdomen, causing him to double forward, breath pushing out of him.

"Eren!" Mikasa caught him before he could hit the ground. Armin ran forward, helping her hold him.

"Annie!" Armin glared at her now. "Annie how could you—?"

Before Armin could finish Mikasa was on her, swinging viciously, making Annie stumble backwards as she dodged her strikes.

"Hey, now." Reiner stepped forward, blocking Eren's view. Eren panted, trying to regain his breath, ribs stinging. "You guys shouldn't do this in here."

Annie swiftly dodged a punch—but Mikasa slid her foot behind Annie's ankle, shoving her backwards. Annie stumbled, back striking the table, dishes crashing everywhere and Mikasa raised her fist.

"Hey!" Reiner lifted Mikasa bodily, ripping her away before she could punch Annie. She kicked the table, forcing him to stumble back, accidentally slamming her against the wall as he tried to regain his balance. "That's enough!" Reiner shouted at her, still holding her against the wall.

And the sight of Reiner grabbing Mikasa and pinning her made Eren's blood boil.

"Hey, don't fucking touch her!" Eren stood, wobbling a little, fists clenched. "Reiner, let go of her."

Mikasa hissed when he pressed her against the wall, bucking against it in a fury.

"If I do she's just going to hit Annie."

Bertolt helped Annie up, and Eren stumbled towards Reiner. "Reiner, either you let her go or—"

Sasha gave a muffled choke as she cracked a glass over Reiner's head, stunning him enough to loosen his grip. Mikasa broke free, her elbow snapping across his jaw, throwing him back violently.

He was out like a light.

"I'm calling the cops!" The manager stood in the entryway of the kitchen, baseball bat in hand, looking frightened and furious. "They're on their way!"

Annie took advantage of Mikasa's distraction to lunge towards her—but Armin stepped between them, blue eyes hard as he glared at Annie.

And to Eren's amazement, Annie paused, fist in mid swing.

"Annie," Armin spoke softly. "Don't."

The sound of police sirens began to whirr faintly.

Annie stepped back, walking towards the exit without a backwards glance, leaving them all with pounding hearts and shaky hands.

* * *

"What the fuck was that, Mikasa?"

Mikasa held the Ziploc bag of ice against her jaw. "I was defending Sasha, sir."

Her manager flew into a flurry of curses, gesturing to the destroyed restaurant, the broken dishes, the cracked window, the jukebox that wouldn't turn back on. "You did this. You're paying for it. It's coming out of your paycheck. Your  _last_ paycheck."

Mikasa's stomach twisted, eyeing Eren and Armin standing outside, being interrogated by the cops. They'd just finished with her and her manager had dragged her back into the kitchen and she knew what had been coming but—she couldn't lose this job, she  _couldn't._ "Sir, I didn't—"

"Leave. You're fired."

"Sir—"

 _"Leave._ "

She dropped the ice pack, slamming out the back door and into the alleyway, needing to breathe—and instead finding him.

"Go away." She bit out, clenching her cut fists.

Levi shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Your brother could be in danger...but if you want me to leave, then I will." He turned, walking away and pulling his hood on.

"Wait." Mikasa clutched the back of his jacket. She prided herself on always knowing what to do, on being able to protect Eren and Armin but she was struggling, the stress of work and school, of paying the rent, of knowing Claude was out there, knowing Eren was within his reach came crashing down on her, and she gave in bitterly. "Please…help me."

Levi watched her, assessing her almost critically. "Alright. My bike's over here. I need to show you something."

* * *

The cop finished scribbling something down. "Hannes will be here in a minute. He just got out of the meeting—he wants us to keep you all here until he arrives."

Eren grimaced, knowing Hannes was going to give him an earful. "I need to go to the bathroom."

The cop looked at him a little skeptically but nodded nonetheless. Eren entered the restaurant a little tentatively, seeing the manager angrily broom up the broken glass and dishes.

"Do you know where Mikasa is?"

The manager sneered. "I don't know and I don't care. She's fired."

Eren's gut twisted. "It wasn't her fault. She was only trying to protect Sasha—"

"She's fired, too."

Eren barely managed to restrain himself from lunging at the asshole. He needed to be calm. Maybe he could get her her job back. "Look, I just need to talk to her. Maybe you'll rethink this when you calm down—"

"I'm calm." The strokes of the broom quickened, belying his words. "You brought in those kids. You caused this—and you caused it because she works here." His thick brows furrowed. "I've seen her. She's been losing weight, looks pasty. I've seen her hanging out with that thug. I don't want any druggies in my restaurant."

Eren went cold. "Don't talk about her like that."

The man snorted. "Don't get all high and mighty. I don't want any of that crap in here. She's fired and that's final. Now get out."

Eren breathed through his nose. "Where is she?"

The man dropped the broom. "She fucking left with that other druggie—on the back of his fucking motorcycle. Good fucking match, those two."

Eren faltered. "Who?"

"That fucking crack head that's always lingering in the alleyway, waiting for her—god knows what the fuck they do in there. Or what they  _don't_."

And for once in Eren's life he was left silent.

* * *

Armin wandered around the corner, searching for any sign of Annie—when he heard muffled voices hissing at one another. He recognized Mikasa's voice, pressing himself against the wall behind the dumpster, hearing her argue with a man he did not recognize.

"…if you want me to leave, then I will."

"Wait." Mikasa choked out the word, sounding so very strained and frail. It was a rare thing when Mikasa was panicked, when she was reduced to such open vulnerability—the only one usually capable of triggering it being Eren. At least, he had thought that until now.

Armin took in a breath—and leaned against the wall, peering through the crack between the metal bin and the brick wall, seeing Mikasa with her head bowed, her hand fisted on the back of the man's jacket tightly, almost in supplication. He wasn't very tall, his hair black, skin pale and sickly, almost sallow. He would almost guess him to be in his late thirties—but he turned to face Mikasa, the childish curve of his face betraying his age. Late twenties, early thirties, Armin amended, couldn't quite see what the color of his eyes were—his examination cut short with Mikasa's next words.

"Please…" She inhaled shakily. "Help me."

_Help me?_

The man's narrow eyes scanned her features, his reserved expression faltering suddenly, softening—and Armin knew the man felt something for her, something that was perhaps felt reluctantly.

"Alright. My bike's over here. I need to show you something."

They made their way down the alley quickly, leaping over a fence, their agility and grace almost perfectly matched. He watched as they mounted his motorcycle, and as they rode away Armin straightened, stepping deeper into the alleyway—found himself surrounded by the peculiar scent of smoke and mint.

* * *

"What the hell happened, Eren?" Hannes questioned roughly, thumbs hooked in his belt. "You  _had_  to get in trouble when I was in a meeting—I know you like getting into fights but at Mikasa's job? Really, Eren?"

Eren glared at the concrete mulishly. "I didn't get into a fight." He breathed unsteadily. "Mikasa did."

"Let me hazard a guess," Hannes bit out sharply. "It was to protect you."

Eren's jaw clenched hard enough to snap. "She was protecting Sasha…and then she protected me."

Hannes eyed him grimly. "You don't know where she went?"

Eren shut his eyes, the ache in his chest sharpening. "She took off with some shady fucker, I don't know."

"Watch your mouth."

Eren exploded to his feet. "You're not my fucking dad, Hannes."

Hannes gaze hardened. "No, but you two obviously need one." He sat Eren back down into the backseat of his cop car roughly. "Who is this guy? Did you get a name?" Hannes lowered his voice. "Is she in trouble?"

Eren's voice was thick. "I don't know—Levi, I think. Stupid fucking name." He breathed in shakily. "She told me he was no one but…I find her rolling around with him in an alley. I found voice messages from him saying that he could 'help her' and that she 'couldn't handle it on her own' and now she takes off with him without a word and…"

_And I'm going to fucking puke._

Hannes sighed, nodding. "I'll find her. You just get Armin home. Go home and don't do a damn thing."

"Yeah." Eren eyed his fists. "That's all I can ever do."

* * *

"This…is what you wanted to show me?"

Levi glared at her. "I've had a bad fucking morning Mikasa, you don't want to fucking push me."

It was a small apartment on the bad— _really_ bad—end of town, bare of furniture except for two chairs and a small table, a mattress in the corner. Levi eyed the street below the small window, pushing at the cheap crooked blinds to get a better view.

"I told you, didn't I?" Levi muttered. "The longer you stay here the more danger Eren is put in."

Mikasa eyed the doorway.

"For fuck's sake." Levi muttered. "This is my hideout. I'm taking a big fucking risk showing you this place." He gestured to the bare room. "Do you remember how to get here?"

She hesitated—but nodded. "Yes."

"Good." He sat in a chair. "If you're ever in trouble and I'm not around you run here, alright?"

He pointed to the bare kitchen. "Plenty of knives and shit in there. There's always a gun strapped under the table and it's always loaded. Do you know how to handle a gun?"

She nodded grimly. Hannes had taken her to the shooting range quite a few times, both to show her how to shoot and to show her off to his friends, the men marveling at her accuracy even as a child.

"Just make sure they don't follow you here. Lose them first. You know how to shake people off?"

Mikasa nodded, shutting her eyes. "Are they really coming after me again? What happened at the restaurant…?"

Levi paused—but nodded. "Yes."

Mikasa breathed slowly, unsteadily. "I have…I have to leave them behind?"

Levi nodded grimly. "If you leave they won't bother with them. They'll go after you. They'll be forgotten—safe."

Mikasa held her head in her hands, tried to clear her blurred vision. "I'm going to lose my family again."

Levi was silent for a very long time. "Better to be apart and know they're alive, that there's a chance you'll see them again…" His voice shook only a little. "Then to know they're dead, and their blood is on your hands." His tone was flat now, lifeless. "To know that you won't ever get them back."

"We can't…take them with us?"

Levi snorted. "Fucking right. You want to drag them down with us to the fucking gutter?" He hunched forward in his chair, hands clasped as his black hair fell over his dark blue eyes. "I'm not a fucking baby sitter. I never promised to protect them—I could fucking care less about what happens to them."

Mikasa regained control of herself with a slow exhale. "I don't have a choice, then."

Levi sighed. "Oh, you do. You always have a fucking choice." He shrugged, grabbing a cup off the table, awkwardly tilting it into his mouth and putting it back down. "You just have to go through with it—" His blue eyes hardened as they met hers. "—and make sure you don't fucking regret it."

* * *

By the time Mikasa returned home it was close to one in the morning.

She paused at the front door, unable to unlock it and step in, hand clenched around the wad of cash Levi had given her for the rent.

_You don't want to know where I got it, just fucking take it and put it to good use._

The door suddenly flew open—and Eren stood there, his hair disheveled, green eyes as hard as steel. "Where were you?"

Mikasa shoved the money into her pocket as discreetly as she could—but his eyes followed the movement.

"I just…needed to breathe."

She'd always been a horrible liar.

"You're lying." Eren's voice cracked a little. "You said he was no one. But he just swoops in and takes you away and  _you just went with him without a fucking word to me._ "

"Eren," She stepped towards him but he shook his head, stepping back, and the movement wounded her deeply. "He's just…my friend."

Eren laughed bitterly, walking into the apartment. She followed, tentatively shutting the door behind her.

"I don't fucking believe you." There was a duffel bag on the couch and he grabbed it, pulling the strap over his head. "You treat me like a fucking kid, Mikasa. Like I'm weak."

"Eren, I don't…You're my family."

He pulled on his sweater. "Except we're not." Eren gritted out, pulling the hood on over his head, his words like a knife in her gut. "We're not related by blood. My parents adopted you but they're fucking gone and we have no reason to stick together, but we do anyway."

He moved towards the door.

Panic struck her, and she snatched his wrist, holding him in place. "You saved my life." The words tumbled from her lips, falling between them, too much and not enough. "You saved me. I owe you my entire life."

Eren's entire body tightened. "When are you going to stop thinking like that, Mikasa?" He shook his head. "Sometimes I think…I think that's the only reason you stick around. Because you think you owe me. Like you're trying to pay off a debt."

"I'm not…" Her breath rattled. "It's not something…" She didn't know how to tell him that she'd never leave him, that she wanted to be by him until she couldn't anymore, that he was more precious to her than her own life. "I won't ever finish paying it off."

Eren ripped his wrist out of her grip. "Stop saying shit like that, Mikasa."

"I owe you—" She stopped, hearing him curse, frustrated with her inability to communicate. Everything she said seemed to upset him and she just  _didn't_ know how to soothe him. "Just tell me what you want me to—"

He whirled on her, grasping the sides of her head in his large hands, pinning her back against the wall. His mouth crashed over hers, kissing her fiercely, bruising her lips, the kiss more anger than desire.

She froze in surprise, her hands limp at her sides as his mouth kept moving over hers persistently, his tongue nudging at her clenched teeth. She inhaled shakily through her mouth—and his tongue surged in, making her stomach curl, her breath catching in her throat.

He swept his tongue over hers, tentatively touching the roof of her mouth, making her jolt and arch against him. He pressed his body to hers—and to her embarrassment she felt the hardness of his arousal pressing against her intimately, her hands grasping his hard waist tightly, too dumbfounded to kiss him back.

He broke the kiss, green gaze heavy lidded as he watched her. "That's what I want, Mikasa." He pressed his forehead to hers.

Mikasa faltered.  _Eren had kissed her._ "I—"

Her cell phone rang suddenly and Eren pulled away, tugging it out of his pocket. He scowled at the screen. "It's your  _friend._ " Eren muttered, handing her the phone.

She shook her head, hands gripping the front of his shirt in a haze. "Eren—"

It rang a fourth time, and within a few seconds it signaled a voicemail. Eren glared down at it viciously. "Check your voicemail, Mikasa."

He'd just kissed her, held her, finally told her—showed her—what he felt for her and now it was all going down the drain, and she could only grip his shirt tighter.

"If you aren't hiding anything, Mikasa…" He held out the phone. "Check your voicemail."

And she knew,  _knew_ it would only end badly but she couldn't deny him regardless. She grabbed the phone with shaky hands, reluctantly pressing the speaker button.

_"You never answer your fucking phone. I'm going to make you swallow the fucking thing the next time I see you. Call me back. Let me know you got home fine. Giving you that much fucking cash and letting you walk home probably wasn't a good idea but—ah, fuck it, you can take care of yourself."_

It beeped and Mikasa gripped the small phone in her hands tightly, her head bowed.

"He gives you money, Mikasa?"

What could she say? How could she explain?

_The less he knows the better. You don't want to get him involved in this._

"Never mind." He turned, walking to the front door woodenly. "I'm spending a few days over with Hannes."

"Eren—"

"Later, Mikasa."

He shut the door and she was alone.

* * *

Annie flinched when Armin pressed the ice pack against her swollen nose. He smiled at her sympathetically.

"Sorry." He brushed her bangs away from her face, examining her features. "But if you're hurt you deserve it."

Annie looked away. "Why did you bring me here?" She examined the small apartment with mild interest.

Armin shrugged. "I'm alone most of the time and you were hurt. I didn't think you'd clean yourself up properly and my grandfather was a nurse." He handed her two pills. "I also wanted to ask about why you reacted so violently."

She swallowed the pills, accepting the cup of water Armin handed her. She'd been so out of it she'd been taken by surprise, the hit nasty and painful.

She hadn't had someone who could make her stumble in a long, long time.

"I just did."

Armin frowned. "You didn't look okay, Annie." He continued to scan her features. "Your pupils—"

She pushed his hand away. "It's none of your business."

"You helped me from those muggers." Armin blurted, putting the ice on the small coffee table as he sat on it, seated before her. "No one was around and there were three of them and you could have walked away, pretended you didn't see a thing and instead you came over and saved me." His wide blue eyes held her gaze sternly. "You didn't have to do that but you did." He grasped her hands. "I know you're not a bad person Annie, and I want to know what set you off back at the diner."

"It wasn't—"

"Sasha was eating your food." Armin's gaze was suddenly introverted. "You looked calm enough when you got out of the bathroom but as soon as you saw Sasha picking off your plate your entire body got really taut."

She watched as he prattled, more to himself. "It almost looked as if—it triggered something. A past memory? A bad experience? Do you have PTSD?"

Annie looked away, all of it and nothing at all. "She laughed at me."

Armin frowned, recalling the way Sasha had giggled in nervousness. "She wasn't laughing  _at_ you, Annie. She was nervous—"

"No one laughs at me." Annie sounded very, very bitter. "No one takes anything from me. I won't let them. I don't care about any of you—I don't need any of you." Her breaths grew jagged. "I only need…"

She paused.

Armin watched her carefully. "You only need who, Annie?"

"My father." She confessed quietly. "He's the only one I need."

Armin touched her hands tentatively. "Is that what he tells you?"

She shook him off. "I need to go."

"Annie." Armin called, their blue eyes touching. "Can I ask you something?"

"No."

"Will you go to prom with me?"

She froze. He watched her quietly, no hint of shyness in his astute gaze, assessing her perceptively. Perceptive, Annie thought suddenly. She'd put words like bookish and gentle and weak but they hadn't quite fit—but perceptive suited him, the way he watched her—understanding, knowing, almost frighteningly so. "That's a stupid question."

Armin flushed a little, finally a little flustered. "That's not an answer."

She looked away. "I hurt two of your friends."

"Three." He corrected.

"Why would you want to ask me to prom after that?"

"Because, Annie..." Armin repeated softly, pressing the ice pack back to her nose. "I know you aren't a bad person."


	5. Family

Armin woke with his heart pounding so hard he felt it in his skull, jerking up in bed with a choked breath. He'd woken to the sound of his window being shoved open and a raspy voice calling his name. He scrambled up in bed gracelessly, seeing a dark figure tumble onto the ground, the wind outside gusting in and chilling him to the bone.

Armin moved as the shadow began crawling towards him, a scream tangling in his throat as the hooded person gripped the edge of his mattress and tugged the sheets towards him.

" _Armin."_

Armin fell off the bed with a strangled cry, his head smacking against the floor sharply. He hissed, kicking the blankets away from his legs. " _Eren?_ "

Eren coughed, yanking his hood away from his head. "Did I scare you?"

Armin would have laughed if his heart wasn't still in his throat. "I thought you were going to  _murder_  me." He admitted, letting Eren help him back up onto the bed. "Eren, what are you doing here?" He squinted at the clock. "At this time?"

Eren mussed his hair, his brows knitting together. "I need a place to stay for the night."

Armin frowned, folding his legs beneath his slim body. "What happened, Eren?"

Eren dropped his hands into his lap as he sat on the edge of Armin's bed. "I got into it with Mikasa."

He was lying. Or, Armin amended as he watched Eren's expression carefully, not  _lying_ precisely, but not telling him everything. "And she kicked you out?" While Mikasa was inherently protective of Eren, when he pushed too hard she didn't hesitate to put her foot down. Still, he knew it took a lot for Mikasa to be so harsh. "Did you get into trouble?"

Eren's jaw worked silently. "No, I—" He rubbed his hands over his face, terribly haggard, voice a scrape of sound. "I kissed her, Armin." Eren drew his knees up, pressing his forehead to them, his words muffled against the fabric of his torn jeans. "I kissed her and she didn't kiss me back and I'm a fucking idiot and I don't know what to do, Armin."

Armin frowned. "Eren—"

"I don't want to talk about it right now—I just want to sleep. Here." Eren didn't look at him, his green eyes glittering eerily. "If that's okay."

Armin watched him silently for a very long time. He'd known what Eren had felt for Mikasa since they'd been children, had known Mikasa had felt the same even if she hadn't realized it herself. He'd been waiting for them to discover it on their own but now that they had—it didn't seem as if it had gone well.

And Eren looked as if he was tearing himself to shreds.

Armin nodded, lying back onto his side. He handed Eren a pillow, watching as he kicked off his shoes and removed his sweater.

Eren lied on his side, staring up at the ceiling. "Thanks, Armin."

Armin felt his lids dragging shut. "Don't worry about it, Eren." Armin yawned. He'd stayed up reading until sunrise the night before. "We'll figure it out in the morning." And they would, he knew, because even if they couldn't Mikasa couldn't ever stay mad at Eren for long and vice versa. None of them could. "You and Mikasa and me have always been together. Since we were kids…" He fell asleep mid-sentence.

* * *

Mikasa found herself sleeping in his bed more often than not, the apartment terribly quiet without his fits of anger or laughter or his terrible music crooning in the background. She often wished she'd find him cooking in the kitchen, or passed out and open mouthed on the couch having waited up for her.

She buried herself in her plans, in deciding what she could and couldn't take, starting a small account to leave Eren a pocket of money once she was gone—and despite how busy she'd been there was a question that refused to leave her be.

Would they make amends before she was gone?

She never opened the garment bag or the shoe box—knew seeing them now would be too painful. She and Eren collided in school, inevitably, and whenever he spotted her he shook his head and walked the other way, leaving without a word.

And it had felt like a knife between her ribs, cutting jagged holes in her already frayed lungs.

But what could she say? How could she explain? She'd only make it worse—she always had. She didn't know how to express herself in a way that wouldn't anger him and Eren had never been able to express himself with any sort of finesse.

She kept forcing her mind to lose itself in the plans she made with Levi, in the new job he'd found for her, in learning how to hide. She found Levi knew how to fight and fight well, and he taught her everything he could, leaving her bruised and exhausted on the floor of his bare apartment more often than not.

Preparing her for what was to come.

" _Again_ ," He'd mutter gruffly, bloodied and bruised and helping her back onto her feet, " _you'll be shown no mercy—with them, and sure as hell not with me."_

Oddly, she found her assigned godfather a little admirable once she looked past the bitterness, his life a hard one, one he'd toughed out and gritted through, coming out scarred but alive, determined to keep his promise to her mother.

A dead woman. A dead woman he seemed to care for deeply.

" _Did you love her?"_

She'd asked him after one vicious sparring lesson, watching him as he stood by the open window, lit cigarette in hand. He took his time thinking the way he never did, his dark blue eyes fixing on the sky, black hair falling over his brow. His words were small, quiet.

" _She was the only one."_

And if this man—her godfather—clung to this so tightly, so desperately, if her mother had trusted him to keep her safe, how could  _she_  deny it? He was the only living memory of her mother, the only piece of her past, the only hope she had for her safety.

For Eren's.

She clung to the hope that she was making the right decision, because it was the only one she had.

* * *

Eren found himself waking up on the couch in the dead of the night often, the phantom touch of her arms wrapped around him dissipating as soon as he woke. It hurt, he realized, being apart from her—they'd been so close for so long.

Or at least he'd thought they'd been.

But how many secrets had she kept from him? How many more was she going to keep?

Did she miss him?

Eren walked past their apartment every night, green eyes searching for signs of her fruitlessly. She wasn't home it seemed, the lights off—and he wondered where she was at this time. She'd lost her job but perhaps she'd found another, landing on her feet the way she always had when he'd always stumbled.

Perhaps she was with Levi.

Eren looked away, trying viciously not to think of her wrapped up in  _Levi's_  arms, to think of her mouth pressed to  _Levi's_ , to think of her _loving_  him.

He wanted to come back home.

But he was much too frightened she wouldn't be there.

* * *

"Can I stay for graduation?" Mikasa asked gruffly, sitting outside the bar she'd found a job at, Levi beside her on the sidewalk.

Levi scowled, the streetlamp above them highlighting his features in a pale yellow glow. His eyes looked scraped of color, a dull green—and she had to look away.

"That's too fucking long. We don't have that much time. I have everything ready. Or, almost everything." He gestured to the stolen—or  _borrowed,_ as he'd put it—passports and IDs, tucking them into his coat pocket. It was what he'd used to get her a job as a bartender here, what she'd have to use when they boarded the plane.

When she abandoned her only family.

"I just need the plane tickets. But I can't take and hide you if you're kicking and screaming the whole fucking way, Mikasa." He crushed his cigarette on the pavement, the ashes sifting in the restless breeze.

She nodded silently, her expression like stone, and he eyed her in dismay.

"Just like your mother." He muttered, the smoke making his breath visible. "Fucking prom." He hissed. "Cops will be busy that night anyway, dealing with all you fucking kids. I'll give you prom and then we're out of here, understood? That same fucking night, got it?"

She smiled a little, the expression bitter and heavy and not quite a smile at all. She wondered if he smiled the same way. "Thank you, Levi."

"Don't." He grimaced. "Don't thank me." He stood, his thin shadow blanketing her. "I'm not doing any of this for you." He walked away, shoving his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched defensively.

She'd known that since the beginning.

* * *

Eren had the edges of the thick blue cover gripped in his fingers, the library quiet enough for him to manage to immerse himself within every passage of the book Armin had recommended.

" _Shut up and touch."_ Eren mumbled, brows pulled together at the odd bit of advice.  _"If speaking softly and finding humor doesn't help diffuse arguments between you and your partner sometimes a simple embrace or holding of hands can help lower tempers and soften your anger."_

Eren looked away for a moment, thinking of the arguments between him and Mikasa and how they usually ended with slammed doors and walking away. They both had a bone deep stubbornness which sometimes made compromising impossible—and the thought of just grabbing her hand in the midst of arguing was a little odd.

He ignored the flush on his cheeks, just about finishing the chapter when someone sat across from him, the scrape of the chair loud, causing several scowls from the other students.

Eren looked up—and tightened his grip on the book. "What the hell do you want, Jean?"

Jean propped his elbows on the table, his long fingers tapping the marked up surface impatiently. "What the hell is going on between you and Mikasa? She looks messed up and I want to know what the hell you did to her."

Eren's glower deepened, covering the lettering of the book with the frayed sleeves of his sweater. "None of your fucking business."

Jean's light eyes snagged over the way Eren covered the book protectively, his thin lips pressing together. "What the hell are you reading?"

Eren snapped the book shut when Jean reached for it. "I'm studying."

"No, you're not." Jean reached for it again. "Why are you covering the title if it's just studying, Yeager?"

Eren stood, grabbing his back pack, struggling to shove his notebooks in. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not." Jean grabbed the back of his jacket, yanking. "Let me see the book."

"I said fuck off."

"I will once you tell me what the hell you did to Mikasa."

"I didn't do anything."

"You're in here—" Jean waved at the library angrily. "Fucking  _reading_ while she's walking around like a zombie. I know she got fired from her old job—god knows what she's doing to support your ass now."

Eren clenched his teeth. "What does it matter to  _you_ , Jean?" Eren grabbed the front of the boy's shirt, dropping his backpack to shove him backwards. "What are you going to do? Let her cry on your shoulder? Take advantage of her strain to worm yourself in and satisfy the stupid little fantasies you have of her?"

Jean let Eren slam him up against a bookshelf in a secluded corner, his thin fingers wrapping around Eren's wrist. "I can help her. I can give her some money so she doesn't have to work so much." Jean looked down at Eren with a fierceness that made his grip slacken. "I don't want anything in return. She doesn't even have to acknowledge I exist—I just don't want to see her like this anymore." His voice cracked, his throat working. "I can't fucking stand it. She's strong but she's can't keep doing this to herself. I need to do  _something_ even if I piss you and her off in the process _._ "

There was a burn in Eren's stomach—and as much as he hated it he knew Jean was right.

"I'll figure it out." Eren released him. "Stay away from her. She doesn't need your help.  _We don't._  We've always made it on our own—for years." And they had, ever since they'd filed for emancipation of their foster parents—it'd been hard, but it had been worth it. They had survived on their own, cutting corners where they could, counting every penny, dragging themselves if need be—and he thought they needed  _his_ help?

"What makes you think you have any fucking right to us—to her? You think you're some goddamn knight in shining armor who's going to sweep away all of our problems and make everything okay?  _Do you know what we've been through_ —?"

Someone cleared their throat. They froze, turning in unison to find the elderly librarian frowning at them from the end of the aisle. "The library requires you to be quiet. The school requires you to keep your hands off each other while on school property."

They pulled away from each other, breathing harshly.

Jean glared at the woman. "We're fine."

The woman crossed her arms, small eyes fixed on them both with distaste. "I won't have any of this kind of behavior in my library."

Eren huffed, straightening his jacket and gathering his backpack, tucking the book under his arm. "I'm leaving, anyway." He began to walk—but the woman cleared her throat again.

Eren spoke through clenched teeth. "Yes?"

"You need to check that book out properly before you take it outside the library."

Eren bit the inside of his cheek, pondering his choices. He could put it back on the shelf but Jean would only follow him, pulling the book as soon as he did. He could give it to the librarian but she'd only do the same, Jean hot on her tail.

And suddenly, he could care less.

He shoved the book into Jean's chest, making the boy stumble back. "Choke on it." Eren growled, yanking his hood up as he stormed out with a shaky rage.

* * *

"Come on—it's a good deal."

"I said no. The pawn shop is closed."

Eren froze in the midst of walking around the corner, hearing Armin argue with a woman's voice he did not recognize. "I'm not selling these to the shop. I'm telling  _you_  these are a good price."

Eren rounded the corner, seeing a couple crowd Armin against the wall, the woman built short with strong shoulders, the man beside her tall as a tree and thin as a straw.

"This is real gold." The man held up grimy hands, silver and gold chains dangling off his tapered fingers.

Armin shook his head, pulling his jacket closed defensively, his back pressed to the graffiti smeared wall. "I don't have any money."

The woman's face twisted into an ugly sneer, voice crackling like foil paper. "You have a job. That means you get paid."

Armin jutted out his chin defiantly. "My money goes to school and food and rent—not jewelry. It's unnecessary."

He tried to move away but the man blocked his path, bony body leaning over Armin like a praying mantis who'd found a butterfly. "Pretty boys like you like jewelry, don't you?"

Armin gritted his teeth, his blue eyes fierce. "You want me to buy a necklace so you can just steal it from me later?" Armin motioned to the chains. "I bet not one of those was earned. I bet all of those were stolen from people who  _did_  work hard to earn them—just to have people like you take them." Armin snatched an end of a necklace, opening the locket clumsily, touching what was surely an engraving. " _Our family._  The pictures are gone though, I'm sure you got rid of them, telling from the scratches at the edges." Armin released the chain as if it had burned him and Eren's grip on the strap of his backpack tightened.

Armin had had his place broken into once—and they'd taken many things from him, memorabilia of his long since gone parents, and the pain of it shook his voice now. "Those could have  _meant_  something to someone. Those could have been a part of a memory of someone they no longer have—and the fact that you would take that from them and  _cheaply_ —"

The man grabbed Armin by the throat and lifted him, cutting off his words—and Eren lunged forward. "Hey—let him go!"

The woman jerked back, light eyes glinting, pulling out a knife—but Eren slammed into her before she could swipe it. The chains flew everywhere as they smacked onto the pavement, Armin's voice a strained cry.

"Eren!"

Eren grappled with her for the knife, recalling how helpless he'd been the last time—and refusing to be so helpless again. He head-butted her when she began to overpower him—the way he had whenever Mikasa had pinned him—and she cried out, her nose bleeding, splattering onto his mouth and jaw.

He felt the man grab his backpack, lifting him off of her forcibly. Eren swiped the knife, slicing at his hand and wrist, the man crying out hoarsely as his skin split brightly.

He dropped him and Eren stumbled, falling onto his back with a grunt—and suddenly they were blinded by a white flash of light, the whine of a police siren cutting into their ear drums.

The man and woman scrambled for the chains they'd dropped, leaving piles of them, running into a nearby alley and disappearing within seconds.

Hannes stopped his cop car just beside them, lowering the window to bark at them. "Are you hurt?"

Armin scrambled to Eren, removing his light blue scarf to wipe at Eren's bloodied face, slumping with relief when he saw it wasn't his own. "We're fine."

Hannes began rolling up the window. "Stay put. I'm going after them." He slammed on the gas, lights blazing up the dark street briefly.

Eren tried to catch his breath, leaning on Armin heavily, letting him wrap his arms around him and tug him up into a sitting position. He looked up at him, grabbing his hand tightly, an odd sense of guilt wracking him. Why had he waited so long to act? "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

Armin nodded, squeezing his fingers. "I'm fine. You're the one who fought them, Eren." Armin snatched Eren's wrist, spotting the bloodied knife, gently prying it from his grip. "You cut him?"

Eren nodded. "Yeah." He hadn't really thought about it. "I did."

Armin's thick brows knitted together, pale fingers holding the knife carefully, a little disgusted. "I'd seen them lurking around the shop for a while now. Mikasa scared them off last time and I thought that'd be enough to keep them from coming back."

Eren and Armin sat on the sidewalk, leaning against the building as the adrenaline left them hollow and shaken. The light from the streetlamp stretched their shadows, glittering over the scattered chains on the sidewalk.

Armin eyed the jewelry with distaste. "Should we pick them up?"

Eren shook his head—but paused when he spotted a large, thick locket. He reached for it, dragging it up off the sidewalk.

"Eren, don't." Armin chided but Eren split open the locket anyway, smearing blood on the small latch.

One side of the square locket was scraped—as if they'd struggled to remove the picture it had once contained—and the other had two elegantly scrawled words onto the smooth gold surface.

_Our family._

"This was the one you opened." Eren finally slowed down his breathing.

Armin hesitated—but nodded. "Yeah. It…" He looked reluctant to admit it. "It caught my eye."

He could see why, the antiqueness of it apparent even to his untrained eyes. It was heavy and thick, the gold dull but well-shaped. "It's really old."

Armin nodded. "Probably worth a lot of money." His blue eyes lingered over it, wiping it free of the blood marring it.

Eren used Armin's scarf to wipe his hands, making a note to buy him a new one—not quite remembering he really didn't have any money  _to_ buy him a new scarf with. Unless… "We should keep them." He blurted, getting to his knees. "We could sell them. We need the money."

"Eren," Armin began.

"We wouldn't spend it on stupid shit." Eren grabbed another chain off the sidewalk. "You know we need it. If the cops take it it's just going to rot away on a shelf."

Armin hesitated. "We shouldn't."

"We should." Eren continued to gather the silver and gold chains, pocketing them possessively. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I'll sell them. This year we'll all get cool Christmas gifts, or something."

"Eren," Armin groaned.

"Maybe Mikasa won't have to work so much." He shrugged, a little too jerkily to be careless. "You either."

And Armin didn't protest after that.

* * *

"This is it." Hannes grumbled. "This is how I die."

Eren scowled, getting up from the couch and walking over to him. "Hold still, old man." He untied the tie wrapped around his throat quickly, letting Hannes pull in some air. Eren gave it another yank, more to make Hannes curse than loosen it. "Why are you dressed up anyway? You going somewhere?"

"No. I'm just a cheap bastard." Hannes looked down at his crumpled suit grimly. "I don't want to buy another suit for your graduation. Too much trouble." He shrugged. "So I found this old one and I wanted to see if it still fits. It does."

Eren couldn't quite contain his humor. "Barely." He poked at his side. "Might want to cut down on the beer."

Hannes scowled, jabbing at Eren's stomach in kind. "You've been gaining a bit of weight yourself."

Eren grimaced now, touching his abdomen self-consciously. "I've been working out." And he had ever since the incident with that thug in the parking lot and the two creeps outside of Armin's shop, recalling how helpless he'd been in the fight the first time and how he'd been a bit more prepared in the second.

It helped burn some of the stress of being away from Mikasa, too.

"Sure." Hannes rolled his eyes, stepping back and holding out his arms. "What do you think?" He turned, giving Eren a full view of his badly tailored suit. "Do I look decent? Won't embarrass you when I show up for graduation? Or—who cares about you, you dress like a street urchin half the time—do you think Mikasa would approve?"

Eren observed him in mock criticism, knowing Mikasa could care less about what Hannes wore. "Lose the tie."

Hannes nodded. "I agree." He tugged it off, tossing it aside. "I think I look pretty sharp without it anyway."

"Yeah, right." Eren sat back down on the couch, green eyes looking at the television unseeingly. As soon as Hannes had discovered Eren had been living with Armin he'd dragged him to his home, threatening to put him in the back of the cop car if he fought him. He'd slept on Hannes's couch every night instead of the spare bedroom—which had been turned into a storage room of some kind. It had been full of dusty boxes and plastic covered furniture, lamps and even some vinyl records he'd sifted through—when he'd found a photo album of Hannes in his younger days.

And the pictures of his parents had burned his insides.

"Hey, Hannes…?" Eren hated himself for asking, hand slipping to the pocket that held a wrinkled photo of his mom in her wedding dress—the half of his father torn off in a fit of rage. "Have you heard from…?" He trailed off, swallowing thickly, torn between calling him  _dad_ or  _Grisha_. He hated that he was asking about him at all, despising the way his voice shook.

"No." Hannes admitted gruffly, understanding. "But I'll keep trying."

"Yeah." Eren shrugged nonchalantly, clearing his throat. "I don't care."

Hannes came over, sitting beside Eren on the couch. "Look, I know I'm not…"

Eren held still, remembering what he'd yelled at Hannes the day of the fight, shame wracking him.

_"You're not my fucking dad, Hannes."_

Hannes touched the back of his neck. "But I'll be there—for prom to keep an eye on you and Mikasa and Armin—in his stead." Hannes cleared his throat and they both fidgeted awkwardly. "Grisha will come around…eventually."

"Doesn't matter if he shows up." Eren bit the inside of his cheek. "You sure you're going to be able to make it?"

Hannes smiled a little. "Promise."

Eren shrugged. "If you can't make it, it's fine." Eren grabbed the remote. "I know you're busy with your cop stuff and we're not your kids so you don't have to pretend—"

Hannes pulled him forward, trapping him in a hard headlock, mussing his hair affectionately. "Stop pretending you're some hard ass."

Eren huffed, heart pounding much too harshly as he tried to break the headlock. "Keep that up and I'm putting you in a damn convalescent home as soon as you hit sixty, Hannes."

They tussled for a few more minutes until Eren finally broke free, both a little breathless, the tension snapped away.

Eren tried to comb his hair with his fingers, knowing he was only mussing it further. "Hey Hannes…?"

Hannes began trying adjusting his tie again, speaking half distractedly. "Yeah?"

"What if I wanted to be a cop?"

Hannes paused, looking at Eren in surprise. "Where did this come from, Eren?"

Eren shrugged. "I've wanted to be one since…" He licked his lips, his heart pounding painfully as the memories branded into his skull burned alight again.

Hannes spoke gruffly, gaze turned inwards bitterly. "Since Carla died."

Eren shook his head. "No." He looked down at his hands, flexing them as he recalled that cold night. "Since the night I saved Mikasa." He could remember the inhuman fury that had bubbled up in his small chest, wishing he'd been bigger, more powerful, that he'd had weapons and training like the cops that had surrounded him—because what use had they put it to? "I've wanted to make guys like those disappear since then." He spoke through his teeth, recalling the way he hadn't been able to lift his mother, the pain of the bullet that had torn over his left shoulder. "And when they killed mom I was sure." He shrugged, touching the old scar reflexively. "I've been sure for a couple of years, now. I want to do what you do. There isn't anything else that I want to do."

Hannes watched him quietly for a long time. "A cop, huh? Your mother would kill me if she knew I let it happen." His smile was a little broken. "You can take the test as soon as you turn eighteen. It's not going to be easy, though. Mikasa won't be happy."

Eren nodded. "I know."

Hannes watched him for a moment, voicing the question he'd been trying not to ask too often. "When are you going to talk to Mikasa, Eren?"

Eren scowled. "I don't know."

They hadn't spoken to each other since he'd left and it was driving him a little crazy. He missed seeing her, worried if she was eating, if she was sleeping alright, if she was taking care of herself like she should, knowing she probably wasn't.

He knew she'd called Hannes to ask for him—but she hadn't asked to speak  _to_ him, and it had hurt Eren in a way he hadn't known it could. He'd been so sure she would, had even sat by Hannes in preparation, practicing his disgruntled 'hey', waiting for Hannes to pass him the phone.

But she hadn't asked to speak to him and he'd been at a bit of a loss when Hannes had hung up.

And maybe…maybe her distance was his fault.

No. It  _was_ his fault. Entirely.

He remembered the way it had felt to finally kiss her, to taste her mouth, the feel of her body against his—the way his body had reacted so quickly it was almost embarrassing.

Mostly, he remembered how still she was, how she hadn't kissed him back, the way her hands had stayed at her sides. She'd been surprised, hadn't responded at all, and it had been like kissing a statue—and it couldn't be more obvious what she felt. Or what she  _didn't_.

He felt like such a fucking idiot for thinking she could think of him as something different, for mistaking her actions as  _romantic_ when they'd been platonic.

And he didn't know if he could face her, hear the rejection he knew was coming.

He was a coward.

"I'm supposed to meet her in the park in about half an hour." Hannes glanced at the clock, standing and beginning to unbutton his wrinkled shirt. "I'm sure she'd be happy to find you there instead."

Eren stayed very still. "I don't think she would."

Hannes sighed. "You know she can't stay mad at you for long, no matter how much of an idiot you are."

Eren grimaced, blurting the words lodged in his throat. "I kissed her."

His hands froze on his tie. "What?"

He didn't know if he should have said it but it was a relief anyway. He raked his fingers through his hair, biting at his lips as if to silence himself. "I kissed her. I grabbed her and I kissed her and she didn't kiss me back, it was obvious she didn't feel the same. She just—she sees me as a brother, and nothing more. Like…family." He dropped his head into his hands miserably. "I screwed up, Hannes."

Hannes didn't say anything for several seconds—until he sat back beside Eren, slowly, as if he didn't quite have control of his limbs.

"You know…" Hannes spoke very carefully. "I wasn't ever sure what you two felt for each other." He admitted quietly, the words sounding a little stilted. "But if there was one thing I knew, it was that you two loved each other no matter what. Ever since you saved Mikasa—and I saw you two sitting next to each other in the police station; the way you were so determined to take care of her, the way she clung to you. You wouldn't even let  _me_ get near her, didn't ask anyone if you could take her with you—you just  _did._  She protects you just as fiercely and you can't blame her." Hannes half-smiled. "You two love each other more than most people who've been married half a century do."

Eren shut his eyes, her words ringing in his skull.

" _I owe you my whole life."_

"Like family."

"Yes. And if you guys love each other that way—like blood—there's nothing wrong with that either. Family is family." Hannes nodded. "But I saw the way you'd get angry whenever another boy came around Mikasa that wasn't Armin; like that one boy, what do you call him, horse face?"

Eren scowled.  _"Jean."_

Hannes chuckled to himself, Eren's voice all venom. "Him. I saw the way you looked at her as you two grew up, too—and I wasn't sure, but I was at the same time." He shrugged. "Sometimes Mikasa looks at you the same way."

Eren lifted his head at that. "She does?"

"Mikasa isn't like us, Eren." Hannes frowned as he explained. "She can't explain herself or what she feels very well—she's blunt and speaks unemotionally. She just… _shows_ it, more often. In the way she worries and cares for you. In the way she looks at you. It's the same look her mother had when she looked at her husband." Hannes nodded. "I think we overcomplicate it and to her it's simple. She feels what she feels and there's no need to voice it."

Eren watched Hannes carefully. He'd tried very hard not to pry into Mikasa's past because she'd always locked up whenever it was mentioned—but he absorbed any bit he learned of her parents, tucking the details into the back of his mind.

Eren looked down to his scarred knuckles. "What should I do?"

Hannes gripped Eren's shoulder. "I'm saying this with all the fondness I have for you, Eren." Hannes sighed wearily, gesturing as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Be a fucking grown up and go talk to her."

* * *

Mikasa was not what anyone would call childish.

But as she'd strolled about the park she hadn't been to in years and spotted the swings she'd felt a wistfulness sweep her, an urge to pretend she was younger than she was, to pretend she didn't have to be grown up.

Pretend that she didn't have to leave everyone she loved behind.

The swing sets were largely rotted, the yellow metal structure chipped and peeling, the heavy chains moving woodenly in the breeze. The hard, rectangular rubber seats had names and symbols carved into them, some melted at the edges from lighters and cigarettes, carved with childish hearts of lovers long since parted.

It was barricaded off by a flimsy fence, old construction signs and broken caution tape, the structure deemed unsafe and hazardous, having been set to be demolished long ago—until they'd run out of funds.

But she'd like to swing on it one last time before she went, even knowing Hannes would be a little angry at her for trespassing. She climbed up the fence swiftly, gracefully leaping from the top, her feet being swallowed up by the sand as she hit the ground.

She smiled a little, making her way towards the three swings in the center that she, Eren and Armin had always sat in, sitting on the one farthest to the left.  _Her_ swing. She swung a little, dragging the rubber soles of her shoes across the sand listlessly as the breeze tore about her.

It was warm and breezy and sunny and it made the ice she'd set to encase herself in soften minutely.

She remembered pushing Eren and Armin most of the time, her superior strength apparent even as a child, watching them soar above her, laughter and happiness warming her when she'd once thought she'd never feel something so tender again.

_My family._

She remembered Eren making it his goal to be able to push her as high as she could push him and how he'd never quite managed to accomplish it.

She wondered if he hated her.

She wondered if he knew how much she loved him and how much she always would.

"I bet I can beat you now."

She felt hands grip her waist—stiffening only for a split second, looking over her shoulder and coming face to face with rich brown hair and fierce green eyes. Her heart stuttered painfully, her fingers gripping the thick chains on either side of her tightly, his familiar scent of soap and cinnamon surrounding her.

"Hey." He breathed, his smile gentle—and hesitant—his face inches from hers.

She shut her eyes, heart in her throat, just past her lips. "Eren."

"I traded places with Hannes." He pushed her a little, warm hands pressing against her lower back, the metal chains creaking in protest at the movement. "You want to see how high I can push you now?" He asked, as if he'd been reading her thoughts.

She smiled a little shakily, nodding. He pushed harder, letting her fly forward and catching her when she swung back, increasing the strength of each swing each time he caught her.

"Too much?" He called when she was up in the air.

She shook her head, curving her back and tucking her legs beneath her to gain more momentum. She swung back down hard and he caught her, lifting her seat high above his head and giving her another hard push. She swung high up, feeling weightless for a split moment, as if everything was okay, and nothing bad could touch her, the sky and sunlight swallowing her up.

She swung back down—and heard a crack and a pop, one of the chains snapping away from the bar.

"Shit." She heard Eren curse, and then she was falling, twisting to catch herself. She had her balance righted, calm as she'd always been, angled to land on her feet—but Eren slid beneath her, arms catching her as she slammed into him hard.

"Eren!" She landed on his chest, the sand pillowing them as they hit the ground roughly.

"Crap." He grimaced beneath her, sand in his hair and eyes, coughing.

She brushed it away quickly, lifting his head in a panic, straddling his chest and moving lower to let him breathe. "Eren are you—?"

"I'm fine." Eren grunted. "Just…need to catch... my breath."

She nodded, curling her fingers into the black fabric of his shirt, watching him anxiously. "I could have caught myself, Eren."

Eren lifted himself on his elbows, glaring at her. "You  _could_  just thank me for catching you, you know."

"Not when you could have been hurt."

Eren sighed wearily. "I'm not a kid, Mikasa."

"I know that."

"I'm not your little brother. I'm not weak."

" _I know."_ She pushed the words out, her hands wringing the front of his shirt and sweater in frustration, the same way she'd clung to him that night in the apartment. "I never saw you that way." She shut her eyes, finding it easier if she pretended she was alone, pretended he couldn't hear her. "I tried to."

Eren didn't say anything—but she felt his heart pounding beneath her knuckles, the same disjointed rhythm as hers. She continued to struggle to express herself, was terribly afraid of saying something wrong again, of upsetting him, having him leave—of letting him.

"I'm sorry." She didn't want him to be mad at her. They didn't have much more time together. She needed to explain—even if she couldn't quite tell him everything. "Levi isn't…what you think he is." The wind lifted her hair to her mouth and she spoke the lie Levi had told her to tell. "He was a friend of my mother's. That's the only reason I tolerate him. He knew my mother and no one else did. I wanted to learn more about her."

It wasn't precisely a lie—Levi had given her tidbits on her mother, on how she was as a child, but mostly he'd just muttered that they looked so much alike it was annoying— but she still felt awful keeping the truth from him.

She was  _lying._

To  _Eren._

Eren didn't deserve to be lied to. He was honest, brave and reckless and protective with a heart that could swallow people whole—and she was the very opposite, precise and controlled, a heart so small it only held Eren and Armin and no one else, shadows and secrets shrouding her.

"Really?" Eren sounded more than hopeful—and it made her throat ache. "He…knew your mom? That was the only reason you kept…" He gestured wildly. "Running off with him?"

"Yes."

He scowled. "And you couldn't just tell me that, Mikasa?"

She shook her head—and perhaps he mistook her strangled breath for the grief of her lost mother because he did not ask any more questions, his anger dissipating quickly, his large hands engulfing hers as she shuddered over him.

Perhaps distance would help them once she was gone. Maybe she should let him pull away from her. It was only a matter of time, she reminded herself, her grip on him only tightening.

He reached up slowly, brushing her hair away from her mouth tenderly. Their gaze connected, her breath hitching, his slow and even. "What you feel for me isn't just…platonic?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, that'd be okay and all. If you didn't like me that way. That's okay."

She shut her eyes—then pressed her mouth to his callused palm, trying to show him what she couldn't find words for. She felt him freeze when she pressed a kiss to the base of his thumb—a ring of silver that had been a birthmark—tentatively opening her eyes to find him watching her in wonder.

He spoke very deliberately, every word carrying weight. "I'm not sorry I kissed you." His green eyes skirted away from hers, his cheekbones flushed as he spoke. "I tried to be. I was angry because I did it the wrong way, I was rough and you didn't kiss me back and I called myself an idiot and I  _was_ but—I would do it again." He looked at her now, brows knitted together tightly. "Differently, but…I'd still kiss you." The intensity of his expression made her heart flutter at the bottom of her throat, the way his green eyes shone brightly in the sunlight reflecting off the sand, the way they skimmed her features, lingering on her mouth.

"I'm…" She could barely hear her own voice over her thrashing heart. "I'm not sorry you kissed me, either."

He paused for just a moment then relaxed. "Good." Eren smiled, the brightness of it robbing her of breath, the way it always had—and it broke her a little, her restraint snapping away.

He'd kissed her first and now it was her turn. She could finally kiss the boy she'd loved since she was a girl—even if she knew it wouldn't last, their hours numbered, their time little—couldn't she?

She leaned forward, pushing her mouth against his, feeling herself shake so hard she was sure her very bones would come apart.

He inhaled sharply—she felt it against her mouth—but he tilted his head back, welcoming her kiss, his chest pressing against hers as he wrapped his arms around her. His fingers against her back urged her body tighter against his as their mouths moved together, their movements clumsy and unsteady, making up in intensity what they lacked in experience.

He parted his lips when the tip of her tongue shyly touched at his bottom lip, murmured a little when she deepened the kiss, the taste and feel of his open mouth intoxicating her.

She didn't know how long they stayed there, only knew she felt unbearably warm, shifting over him restlessly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers raking through his locks and tugging up so she could drag her lips down his throat.

He gasped, tightening his arms around her and flipping them over, his knees spreading her thighs apart. He buried her in the sand with the welcome weight of his body, cupping the back of her head as he caught her mouth with his again, sweeping his tongue past her lips, his eyes shutting as he slanted his mouth over hers. Her hands dragged down his hard chest, her long legs wrapping about his waist in welcome, his breath catching.

She could have this, she thought fiercely, could have him before she left. She could take this from him, keep it, no matter how selfish it was.

She slipped her hands beneath his shirt, nails tracing over his hard stomach, making him shudder over her as she pressed their hips together—until they heard several giggles from behind them.

They broke the kiss, breathing harshly, his lashes thickly framing his bright green eyes. Eren sat up dazedly, looking down at Mikasa a little sheepishly, touching the back of his neck as a blush touched his cheekbones. A group of kids were passing by, eyeing them scandalously. He huffed. "Guess we got a little carried away."

She flushed, nodding, trying to sit up—but his hands caught her shoulders, stopping her.

"Ah, wait, I…" He cleared his throat, green eyes catching hers determinedly. "Go to prom with me, Mikasa."

The question threw her off guard. "Prom?"

"Yeah. Prom. I have a suit and you have a dress." His face was flushed vividly. "I want us to go together. Unless you want to go with someone else—just not Jean." Eren scowled at the thought. "Please don't go with Jean."

Mikasa would have smiled if she wasn't teetering between happiness and anguish, understanding the meaning of bittersweet in a way she'd never had before.

The breeze came again, lifting his mussed hair, blowing sand around them—and she tried to memorize this moment the best she could, half buried in the sand, his weight pressing down on her, his mouth swollen from her kiss. His attention was focused on her intensely, waiting for her answer.

_I don't want to leave you._

"Yes." She whispered.

She was going to leave him, leave  _them,_  and she'd be alone all over again and the worst thing was knowing he wouldn't understand, knowing he'd possibly come to hate her.

"Of course I'll go to prom with you."

* * *

"You've been missing a lot of school lately." Armin murmured, keeping his blue eyes on the sunset.

Annie picked at the sandwich he'd made her, removing the lettuce and adjusting the slices of tomato. "I've been busy."

Armin hummed, swallowing a bite of his food before speaking. "I'm glad you came, though." He smiled. "I was pretty sure you weren't going to show up, honestly."

Annie began to pick at the crust next, a little irritated with how closely Armin was watching her. "I wasn't." She admitted, shrugging. "But I was hungry." She hadn't ate in a day or so, and when she'd searched the fridge back home she'd found it ravaged by the usual rats her dad hung out with, finding cases of mostly finished beer and a few apples carved into pipes.

Armin slid a bottle of water towards her as she took her first bite. "You know," Armin swallowed. "If you ever need anything you can ask me."

Annie chewed quietly, bread turning to ash in her mouth. "Are you offering me money?"

Armin frowned. "No." He eyed the dark circles beneath her eyes, the gauntness of her features. "I'm offering you help."

She looked away. "Money is helpful."

Armin sounded stern. "Not in your case, Annie."

Annie's jaw tightened. "You want me to go to prom with you, don't you?" She pinched a piece of bread between her fingertips, the laces of her boots untied. "I need money for a dress."

"Annie." He chided softly and it was laced with just the right amount of disappointment to make her feel an unusual sense of shame.

She dropped her half-finished sandwich, grabbing the water bottle and pushing onto her feet gracefully. "People like you like offering help until it inconveniences them," Annie pulled on her jacket. "And people like me use people like you until you're no longer useful. You can stop trying to make a charity case out of me to gratify your fantasies of being a savior." She tugged on her hoodie. "You couldn't even save yourself—what makes you think you can save me?"

She moved away—but Armin reached out, grasping her wrist with his thin fingers. "I don't pity you, Annie." His voice shook a little, surprising him. "I like you, Annie." He looked up at her beseechingly. "I'm trying to be your friend."

_Friend._

In a peculiar way Armin had gotten beneath her skin, perhaps since she'd first spotted him being pinned against the wall by men much bigger than him. He'd looked small and helpless, frail really, and as she'd gotten closer she'd only confirmed that he not only looked it but he _was_. Physically, at least. Despite being at their mercy Armin had not given an inch, slim fingers wrapped about their grubby wrist, wielding his sharp words with a fierceness that had moved her.

He was weak, and he'd been powerless against them, circumstances dire—but he hadn't given them the satisfaction of cowering.

It had been something she knew well.

Her brows pulled together, her pulse hammering beneath the pads of his fingers. "Friend…" The word sounded awkward and thick on her tongue. She didn't really have those.

She couldn't be a friend at all—there had always been something missing within her, an essential piece that had never really allowed her to develop a friendship while everyone else had been able to form bonds the way people shook hands.

Except she didn't want to _just_ shake hands with Armin.

"Annie?"

She snatched his wrist, tugging him up hard enough to pull him up onto his knees as her hood fell back.

"Annie, what are you—?"

She muffled his words with her mouth, one hand holding his wrist imprisoned, the other cradling the back of his head as she deepened the kiss. His blue eyes were wide, his mouth unmoving—until she pulled back her teeth, slowing down. His lashes fluttered when her tongue swept in, his breath catching at the sensation.

His eyes shut, his head tilting, his lips parting. His hands sifted up her arms, his fingers tentatively threading through her mussed hair, cradling her head the way she held his as he learned to kiss her. Soon enough his tongue was seeking hers, running over her teeth, his shyness dissipating with every ripple he pulled from her body.

She pulled her mouth away, dragging her teeth over his bottom lip, a little dazed at how quickly—and how much—he'd made her feel.

Armin breathed in shakily, looking up at Annie with clouded blue eyes. "Annie…"

Annie released him, straightening, hiding her face with her hood quickly. "Later, Armin."

* * *

Mikasa had come home from work about an hour ago, looking exhausted and spent, and after he had forced her to eat and drink an entire glass of milk he'd dragged her with him to the couch, letting her sprawl over him, her body a welcome and pleasant weight over his. He'd kept his eyes focused on the flickering screen as her fingertips had encroached beneath the collar of his shirt, her callused fingertips finding the scar on his left shoulder. She'd run her blunt nails over it lightly, the motion seeming to soothe more her than him. Before long her breathing had evened out, her lids dragging shut, and he'd been a little enthralled to discover that—like a cat—she'd fallen asleep atop him.

He'd taken a photo or two of her, settled to run his fingers through her hair until he was quite sure he'd cleared any and every tangle, until he was sure he'd know the feel of her hair even in his sleep.

It wasn't until a commercial about a last minute sale on prom dresses flickered on screen that he remembered that he had not seen Mikasa in the dress, nor did he know if she'd tried it on.

He lifted his head from the pillow, grabbing each side of her head and lifting it off of his chest, blocking her view from the television so that she would look at him and only him.

"Eren—?" She looked half asleep, and at the sight of her heavy lidded gaze and her sleep swollen features he couldn't prevent himself from giving her a quick, hard kiss.

She murmured something against his mouth—and he pulled away, looking at her intently as he spoke. "Have you tried on the dress?"

She gathered her thoughts slowly. "Yes."

"Did it fit?" His frown deepened. "Did you like it?"

She pushed away from his chest, sitting up on his lower stomach, and the reserved look on her face had him feeling uneasy. "I did."

He sat up, keeping her on his lap, raking his hair back and watching her carefully. She couldn't tell a lie for the life of her but she had a poker face like no other. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head—he touched her chin, making her face him.

_Speak softly. Shut up and touch._

He sounded as awkward as he felt. "Tell me."

She swallowed, spoke a little thinly, not seeming to notice his attempt at preventing an argument. "I…tore it."

He released her, mind wiped clean. "What?"

She touched the side of her waist as she spoke. "There's a small tear on the side of the bodice. It's small but noticeable."

He stood, a sneaking suspicion forming in the back of his mind. "Let me see it."

"I'll still wear it."

"Go try it on."

"There's no need."

" _Mikasa._ " He bit out—but took a deep breath. "Try it on. Please."

She held on stubbornly for a few more moments until she conceded with a stiff nod, disappearing down the hall. He clicked the television off, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing a bowl of cereal. He sat down at the table, gazing out the window and chewing as he waited.

He had a feeling she wasn't the one who'd torn the dress.

He felt unusually nervous about prom—had felt nervous even at school. How would people react? Seeing them  _together?_  They hadn't expressed it much—nothing like the couples who devoured each other's faces and groped at one another in the hallways—but they'd sometimes been caught leaning into one another, fingers interlacing, shoulders brushing, anger stemmed by a surprise kiss or touch.

Not many had noticed this small change—except for Armin, of course.

And Jean.

Eren grinned a little to himself, remembering the way Jean had squawked when he'd seen Eren brush her hair away from her face during lunch, tucking it behind her ear and watching her blush.

He may or may not have done that intentionally and to his surprise he'd felt a sting of guilt at the anguished look on Jean's face. He'd get over it eventually, Eren told himself.

Besides, he was content, if not completely happy—but what had him hesitating the most was Mikasa herself.

There was no doubt that she meant it when she said she loved him, no reserve in the way she kissed him and touched him—but there were moments where she suddenly pulled away, aloof and untouchable, dark eyes unseeing.

" _What's wrong?"_ He'd ask her but she'd only shake her head, mutter some crap about being tired.

And Eren wasn't the smartest but he knew there was  _something_ going on.

Armin knew it, too.

" _Where are you looking to go to school, Mikasa? After graduation?"_

The question had made her pause in the midst of her studying, but she'd kept her gaze trained on the book splayed before her, her answer quiet, voice small.

_"Wherever you and Eren go, I will too."_

He glared down at his half empty bowl until he was sure the milk would begin to boil.

He wanted to shake the feeling off, wanted to tell himself he was just being stupidly paranoid but he couldn't.

"Eren."

He looked up, nearly dropping his bowl in surprise. He spilled some of the milk onto his lap, cursing viciously. "Fuck. I was off in my head." He slid the bowl onto the table, looking up at her—and pausing.

She was still, except for her pale hands, smoothing over the short black skirt, finding imaginary crinkles. Her hair was loose, longer now, touching her bare shoulders. The tight top of the dress emphasized the slightness of her waist, the flare of her hips, making her look much, much more womanly. She'd pulled on the small heels, too, black like her dress, trying her best to seem unflustered as he examined her.

He wanted to stare at her all day as much as he wanted to tug her onto his lap and bunch the skirt in his fists, wrap her long legs around him and delve into the softness of her mouth.

He tugged her phone out of his pocket, clicking the camera on and snapping a photo of her before she could move away.

"Eren." She protested, the way she always did when he took a surprise photo of her—and he shook his head when she pulled up her scarf, hiding her mouth.

He put the phone onto the table, flustered despite himself. "You should be used to it by now."

She was blushing, ignoring him as she touched her waist. "It's here." She turned, letting him see her left side, a small thin slit where her ribs were, pale soft skin exposed. She stepped a little closer, and he reached out, touching it as he recalled the night he'd bought it.

The thug had swiped a knife at him—and he'd used the dress as a shield, deflecting the blade with it—and he was sure the knife had punctured it, cutting through to the material of the dress.

"Maybe we can get you another dress." He stood, feeling pathetic and disappointed in himself. "I saw a commercial just now, a sale going on—"

"No."

"Mikasa."

She shook her head, cupping her hand over the tear. "I don't want another dress."

"Mikasa, don't—"

She pulled away from him—he grabbed her wrists, keeping her anchored to him. She spoke very coldly. "I'm wearing this dress, Eren. I don't want another."

"Okay, okay, fine." Eren laughed a little, eyeing her scarf. "I have an idea." He tugged the scarf away from her neck, making her start. "Turn around."

She hesitated but obeyed, facing the kitchen table. He frowned as he smoothed the scarf fully open, wrapping it neatly about her waist, fumbling as he tried to make a bow of some kind at the back.

"I feel like I'm learning how to tie my shoes all over again." He muttered.

Mikasa looked over her shoulder. "Let me do it."

"No. I got it."

"Eren—"

He yanked on the scarf again when she tried to turn, forcing her to face the table. "Stop it." He snapped, a little embarrassed. He made one on his third try, though it was still limp and sad looking—but it covered the slit, and though he did not know much of fashion he hoped it would do.

"See? You can't see it now." He smiled, mildly proud of himself as he spanned his fingers on either side of her waist. "You kind of look like a present with a big red bow. Armin could probably make the bow better." He ran his thumb over the place where the scarf covered the tear.

She turned to face him, looking down at herself curiously.

"Do you like it?" His hands slid over the scarf and the fabric of her skirt, the material slippery beneath his palms.

She nodded, speaking terribly softly. "I haven't worn a dress since…"

He could remember rather well the last time she'd worn a dress—at his mother's funeral, looking pale and gaunt and ghost-like, face impassive as he'd kneeled before the coffin and shattered into a million pieces.

"Yeah." Eren rasped, something cold and dreadful swelling in his chest. "I know."

Slowly, as if still unsure but sensing his sudden grief, she wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him to her.

Eren shut his eyes. "I know."

Their cheeks pressed together, their hearts beating deep and slow, wrapped up in their own world of warmth.

* * *

"Don't pepper spray me." Annie's listless blue eyes slid down to the bulky can in Armin's shaky grip. "That shit stings."

Armin relaxed, slumping against the doors of his work building—and he bit back the question of  _you've been pepper sprayed before_? "You really shouldn't sneak up on me like that." He shoved the can into his jacket pocket, the end of it sticking out awkwardly. "I thought I was going to get mugged again."

She shrugged, actions contradicting her words. "Sorry."

Armin gathered his composure, handing her a brown paper bag.

She didn't take it, examining it suspiciously instead. "What is it?"

"Food." Armin pulled the strap of his back up higher, his breath fogging in the icy night air. "I made us both some food. If that's okay."

Annie kept her hands in her pockets. "Thanks."

Armin smiled at her gently, dropping his hand. He put the bag back into his backpack, careful not to smash it. "So, where are we off to?"

Annie looked away, turning on her heel and gesturing for Armin to follow. "My place."

He caught up with her, walking beside her quickly. She was shorter than him he mused, but her strides were long and graceful, and he struggled to keep up. "Never been there before."

They'd settled to have their meeting spots at his home or on an odd roof or two—and her suggestion to take their meetings somewhere else had surprised him. It had felt as if there had been another motive but he'd held his tongue, deciding to see what she had in mind instead of questioning it. She was skittish enough anyway.

"No one has." Annie informed him quietly, her hair slipping from behind her ear.

Before thinking, Armin reached out, tucking it behind her ear gently. His fingertips lingered over her jaw, his steps faltering—and he walked straight into a trashcan. He yelped, struggling to catch his balance—but she grabbed him, one arm wrapped around his waist and pulling him against her, her other hand catching the trashcan before it hit the ground.

"I'm sorry." Armin grimaced, his knee—and pride—stinging. "I've always been kind of clumsy." He steadied the trashcan for her, clearing his throat. "But thank you for—" He turned to face her—realizing a split second too late the action brought their faces only inches apart. His breath fogged again, puffing between their lips, and he saw her eyes drop to his mouth. "Catching me." He finished weakly.

Annie loosened her grip on him, a bright flush sweeping across her cheekbones, her words hard. "Watch your step." She pulled away, shoving her hands in her pockets stiffly. "Where we're going—we don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

Armin faltered, blinking at Annie's back as she kept walking.

"I thought we were just going to your house?"

Annie stopped, looking at him from over her shoulder. She was standing beneath the streetlamp, her hood pulled over her head, her blue eyes glinting eerily. "Exactly."

* * *

When Eren showed up to pick Mikasa up from work he found her being talked up by two burly, older men. He scowled as he parked by the bus station, stuffing the car keys into his pocket—because he'd forgotten his hoodie. He walked straight towards them, seeing the way Mikasa held her arms crossed to ward off the chill, her expression otherwise bored and uninterested—until she spotted him.

She stood off the wooden bench, smiling at him with that gentleness she reserved especially for him—and before she could get past them one of the men offered her his jacket chivalrously.

Right. He knew it had been cold today. He'd only worn his long sleeve cotton shirt—but if he'd brought his hoodie he would have been able to let her wear it.

"No thank you." Mikasa murmured, slipping between them.

The man grabbed her wrist, tugging her back, his other friend crowding her between them both. "Hey, I just—"

"Hey," Eren shouted, quickening his steps. "Don't fucking touch her." Eren shot forward—and before any of them could blink Mikasa moved, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it back painfully, bringing him to his knees before her.

The man gave a choked cry, a few of the people lingering about laughing at the sight. "Let me go. I just wanted your number."

Mikasa looked at him with a frighteningly dead expression. "You can't have it." She twisted his wrist back further when his friend approached her, making him give a pitiful whine. "I'm going to leave now."

He nodded, panting. "Yes. Okay. Sorry."

She released him, walking away without another glance. She wiped her hand on her jeans, handing Eren a bag of food as if she hadn't just dropped a man to his knees in front of an entire crowd. "I got out early." She murmured evenly.

Eren took the bag a little numbly, seeing the chills on her skin. Here she was working herself to the bone, bringing him food, protecting herself and he couldn't even help her keep warm. He really was fucking useless. "You're cold." And—he suddenly remembered—the heater in their car had stopped working a few days ago.

She shook her head. "Let's go home."

Eren grabbed her wrist—much the way that bastard had—but she only turned her hand into his, lacing their fingers and tugging him towards the car.

It softened him imperceptibly, and he passed his thumb over her sharp knuckles. "Wait." He released her hand, grabbing the hem of his long sleeve and pulling it up.

"Eren—"

He struggled a little to get it off his head, his curse muffled against the fabric as he gave it another yank. "Fuck—I'm stuck—wait, no I got it." He shivered as it finally slid off, wearing only a thin muscle shirt beneath. "It's, um, clean." Eren spoke awkwardly, grabbing Mikasa and yanking her forward. "Here." He ignored her protest as he pulled it over her head, dragging it down until her arms were trapped, her eyes barely peeking above the wrinkled collar.

He tried to hide his amusement, a memory of when they'd been children flickering across his mind. "Stick your arms through the sleeves."

She did, the scarf stuck beneath the collar. He adjusted it for her, pulling her hair free and wrapping the scarlet fabric about her jaw and chin. He flipped an end over her face for good measure—flushing and stemming a huff when her eyes crinkled at the corners.

She pulled it down and over her small mouth, her eyes tracing over his bare arms, lingering over the scar on his left shoulder. She looked away, slightly flushed. "You're going to be cold, Eren."

He shrugged, chills prickling across his skin. "I've always been kind of warmer than usual, I think." He tugged on her scarf, pulling her towards the car as he flushed. Why were people looking at them? Or was it because he felt self-conscious and it only  _felt_ like everyone was watching them?

She laced their fingers together. "Let's go home."

A fierce blush swept over his cheekbones, warming the back of his neck and the top of his chest. "Yeah, let's go."

* * *

Armin was, by no means, a coward. He did not however, feel particularly brave as he stood under the inspection of four glowering men twice his—and Annie's—size.

Annie grabbed the back of his backpack, lugging him with her down the hall of what was—apparently—her home. "Come on." She muttered, kicking at the random junk littering the untiled floor, and he followed helplessly. He hissed when he stepped on a beer can, liquid gushing out and soaking through the cloth of his converse.

"Sorry." He hissed.

She opened a door, tugging him in and shutting it behind them. She flipped the switch on—and when his eyes adjusted to the brightness he marveled at the number of locks she had drilled into the frame of her bedroom door, thick and heavy and glinting. He counted at the very least twelve, her small hands flicking over them deftly, locking each and every one in a practiced motion that made his throat ache.

He didn't need to ask her  _why_ she had so many, the frightening atmosphere of her neighborhood enough of a reason and the glowering men within her shabby apartment another. He looked away as she finished, catching over the few details in her room. The walls were a dull, chipped pink, riddled with deep cracks and brown water stains. Her bed was a flimsy metal frame with a mattress bare of sheets, springs cutting though, a naked bulb hanging in the center of the room.

What captured his attention the most, however, was a makeshift weapon beside her bed—a splintered baseball bat punctured with at least thirty rusty nails, the sharp rusted edges bent and jutting out frighteningly.

Annie removed her sweater. "It's in case someone tries to break into my room." She hung it up on the back of a torn up computer chair beside her window. "My dad has a lot of shady friends."

Armin felt his heart pounding painfully hard, his hand reaching for the pepper spray. "Here." He handed it to her shakily. "You can have this."

She ignored it, sitting up on her bed. "You need it more than I do." She toed off her boots. "Besides, I hate pepper spray."

Armin placed the can on the chair anyway, carefully sitting beside her. "So," He gripped his narrow knees, one of the springs catching at the fabric of his jeans. "This is where you live." He tried not to stare at the odd holes in the wall, each of them the size of a small fist. He grabbed the paper bag from his backpack. "With your dad and his…friends."

Annie nodded. "Yeah. Sorry for bringing you here." She tugged at her hairband, hair slipping loose and falling about her jaw.

Armin paused in the midst of taking the food out, a thought occurring to him. "Why did you bring me here, Annie?"

He felt her look at him, her stillness betraying her. "I can take you back, if you want."

Armin placed he paper bag on the mattress between them. "Not yet." He crumpled the edges of the paper down. "I was just thinking—if you brought me here to frighten me—it's not going to work." He tugged out two napkin wrapped sandwiches, handing her one gently as he spoke. "I'm not as frail as you think, Annie. Besides, I've been friends with Eren and Mikasa since I was a child. Really, with what they've put me through nothing can scare me now." He unwrapped his sandwich, lips curving up softly. "Well, except for losing them, of course."

Annie mimicked him, hands going still when she lifted the slice of bread to remove the lettuce—and found none. He'd remembered, she realized, finding a generous amount of tomato slices instead. Not only that but the crust had been neatly sliced off, the edges rounded the way she liked them. She'd known Armin was sharp, intelligent and perceptive enough to make her uneasy but she'd never thought he'd be  _thoughtful_ —because those traits didn't always go hand in hand.

"What about you?" Armin spoke after swallowing, seeming not to notice her hesitation.

Or perhaps noticing it but choosing not to acknowledge it less she think he wanted praise for his attention to detail. Armin wasn't like that, Annie thought.

And it made her want to throw him out and cling to him with every ounce of strength she had.

"What about me?" Annie muttered, taking a swift bite.

"With the way you live," Armin gave her a Gatorade bottle—yellow, and it seemed the way she liked her sandwiches wasn't the only thing Armin had noticed. "Are you afraid of anything?"

Annie shrugged as she chewed, chasing the stickiness of the bread with a mouthful of Gatorade. Horror movies held no appeal, heights were, in her opinion, favorable because of the advantages they presented and fights and violence were the norm. She wasn't really afraid of anything except… "Water."

Armin's thick brows pulled together. "Hydrophobia?" He shook his head. "You can't swim?"

It didn't feel as uncomfortable as she thought it would—revealing a fear, a terrifying weakness. It felt easy to say it, and it wasn't because she didn't find Armin threatening—his intelligence was something to be very wary of—but she didn't feel he'd ever be cruel enough to wield it against her.

"No." Annie wiped at the corner of her mouth.

Armin was watching her with that absorbent look again, thin fingers wrapped around the plastic lid of his own bottle, liquid the same color as his eyes. "You drowned, didn't you?"

Annie lifted the sandwich back to her lips. "Yeah." She waited until he took another bite before speaking. "I was nine or maybe ten years old. We were jumping around from place to place and settled at a motel. It had a pool." She kept chewing. "My dad told me to wander around because he had to do some grown up stuff. It'd been a few hours and I got sleepy so I went to sleep on one of those plastic chairs by the pool." She finished her sandwich with another bite. "I woke up feeling someone grab me." She shrugged. "Some random creep was trying to take me back to his motel room. I fought him and I guess he got fed up with me fighting him because he shoved me into the pool." Annie looked to her window now, eyes dull. "I started drowning and he ran after that."

Armin had dropped his sandwich into his lap, blue eyes watching her with a mixture of horror and pity. "Who saved you?"

Annie took a drink. "My dad. I don't remember much of it—I just remember waking up and spitting out water and my lungs burning. My dad was more freaked out than I was. He just held me and kept saying he was sorry and that he loved me and he didn't mean to."

"He shouldn't have left you alone." Armin's lips pressed together unpleasantly. "Telling you to get out of the motel room and wander around because he had grown up stuff to do is irresponsible and bad parenting. You could have died, Annie."

Annie gave him a hard look. "My dad did the best he could. We both did. We didn't have the luck to be born into a good family with money." Her grip on the bottle tightened. "My dad has never abandoned me."

"You call this—?" Armin gestured to her rotting room, the locks on her door, the nail riddled baseball bat, the hilt of the knife he saw peeking from beneath her mattress. "Taking care of you? This is awful, Annie. This isn't healthy."

"My dad couldn't ever get a job. They took one look at his messed up face and his drug habit and rejected him. We make ends meet any way we can—even if it doesn't meet with your approval." She stood, hands clenched in white fists. "It was either that or starve."

"What about the future, Annie?" Armin put his sandwich aside. "Is this the way you're going to live for the rest of your life? What about college?"

Annie shook her head. "My father never abandoned me. I wouldn't ever abandon him."

"Is that what he tells you?" Armin stood, the moonlight from the window touching over their blonde hair and painting it silver. "He tells you going to college would be abandoning him?"

Annie jutted out her chin defiantly. "He just asked me if I was going to leave him—the way mom left us. I said no. I wouldn't." She shrugged, her throat working. "I'm not."

"It's not leaving him, Annie." Armin touched her elbow gently. "It's finding a better life for yourself. If he was a good father he'd want that for you, too."

"What do you know about good fathers?" Annie jerked away from his touch. "Your parents left you when you were a kid. At least my dad never did."

Armin flinched. "Annie…" He struggled to speak. "How do you know about my parents?"

Annie shook her head as if regretting her words, her small hands gripping the edge of her window sill. "I know more than you think, Armin." She grabbed her sweater. "I think it's time I took you back home." She lifted her arms to slide the sweater on—but Armin reached out, grabbing her wrist and turning it over.

She froze when his fingers touched the inside of her elbow, fingertips snagging over the bruises, the muscle deep marks of needles and tourniquets.

"Annie." Armin breathed weakly.

She ripped her arm out of his hold, pulling the sweater on swiftly. "Go home, Armin." Annie zipped it up, jaw working. "You can find your way back on your own."

He hesitated—and left only after a minute.

* * *

As noble as he'd felt giving Annie his pepper spray he rather wished he hadn't now. He'd pulled his hood over his head defensively as he'd walked the dark, threatening streets, weaving his way back home as discreetly as possible. If he heard voices he'd turn the other way, finding another alley to cut through instead of walking by them. Once he'd found enough of a well-lit street he tugged out his cell phone, dialing quickly.

She picked up on the second ring. "Armin?"

"Hey, Mikasa." Armin paused when he saw someone walking a few yards ahead of him. "Are you busy? I was wondering if you or Eren could pick me up—if you're not busy, or anything."

Mikasa had sounded sleepy before but he heard her shift, her voice now clear and sharp. "Where are you?"

Armin saw the man ahead turn into an alley. "I'm on eighth and Hall, heading towards the bus stop."

Mikasa paused. He knew she'd be angry—but it was born out of worry. This side of town was the worst. "Why are you there, Armin?"

He could hear her dressing, the jingle of car keys almost instant. "I came to visit someone."

"I'm on my way." There was the sound of a door—and then he heard Eren protesting.

"Okay." Armin felt a little relieved. Only a little longer and he'd have the safety of his friends—though he knew they'd chide him the way parents did. "I should be getting to the bus stop soon so I'll call you—" He heard the scrape of a sole across the pavement, a sharp exhale—and pain exploded across the right side of his skull, the phone flying from his grip as he hit the ground. He groaned as blood tricked over his eye, rolling onto his back, the light of the streetlamp blinding him. A shadow loomed over him, blotting out the light—and Armin came face to face with someone he knew he'd seen before.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." The man muttered thinly, narrow blue eyes looking at him with distaste. "Out of all the fucking people I could have jacked." He reached down, lifting him by the front of his sweater, his head lolling back—and that was the last thing he remembered before he passed out.

* * *

Mikasa was not often frightened.

But hearing Armin's cry of pain and the phone call cut off had made her blood freeze. She'd been in the middle of trying to leave the apartment when Eren had asked her what was going on and when they'd both heard it they'd bolted down the steps in unison, running as fast as they could to the car. She'd let Eren drive, her window down, her hand on the flimsy handle in taut preparation.

She'd leapt from the car as soon as she spotted Armin lying on a bench beneath the bus stop, ignoring Eren's shout because he hadn't yet stopped the car. Her feet flew over the asphalt, ignoring the wary looks from the few stragglers about as she reached him, her hands touching his bloodied head, checking for a pulse—please, not again, _not again_ —weakening when she found he was breathing and alive.

"Armin." Mikasa forced the words out of her throat, knowing she needed to regain her control. "Armin what happened?"

Eren reached them a moment later, pushing her aside to lift him in his arms. "He's bleeding." Eren's voice shook. "Mikasa, he's bleeding."

Mikasa forced her emotions down at the sight of Eren's shaking, slowing her pulse by sheer force of will. "Get him in the car." She took the keys from him, opening the door and shutting it when he slid in, Armin cradled in his lap. She rounded the car—and hissed when someone pinned her against the side of it, covering her mouth with a cold hand.

"Don't fight me." Levi hissed, looking about them quickly. "Armin is fine. I didn't hit him that hard." He slid his hand away from her mouth. "Is he a fucking idiot, or something? What is he doing out here at this time?" His hood slid down. "He came from the south side of town, though." Levi's gaze turned inwards. "I think I know who he was here with."

Mikasa went very still. "You hit Armin?"

Levi nodded. "I didn't recognize him until I punched him. It's a good thing I did though, because if he would have gone any further he would have come across some other guys I know—and they wouldn't have left him as pretty as I did." Levi shoved his hands in his pockets. "You can thank me later."

Mikasa nodded, turning away—and then her left hand flew out, knuckles cracking across his jaw, his head snapping backwards. He grunted as his back hit the wall, landing on his knees hard. He clutched his face, his blue eyes glinting with malice as he glared up at her.

"Thanks." She murmured, shaking her hand out and slipping back into the car.

"Who was that?" Eren held Armin's head against his chest, his green eyes wild—and she realized with some relief that it had been too dark for him to see, and too quick.

"Some idiot who wanted to steal the car." Mikasa shifted into drive, grateful when Eren did not ask any more questions.

* * *

Levi ignored the stares he was getting from the other people in the liquor store, filling the small Ziploc bag with ice from the soda machine. He hissed when he pressed it to his jaw, his eyes fluttering shut at the icy sting. He ignored the protests of the cashier, walking out and cursing how well he'd taught Mikasa to throw a punch.

She had raw power, an eerie sense of her surroundings and her body, and with the little guidance he'd given her she'd used it against him in the blink of an eye.

"Fucking brat." Levi inhaled the cold night air, walking towards the intersection—until he felt someone step behind him. He shifted his weight, preparing to whirl and kick—but the words stopped him.

"Didn't think I'd see you again." She murmured, voice low and familiar. "Did getting hit by my taser hurt?"

Levi set his teeth. "I'm not in the fucking mood to mess around." Levi looked over his shoulder—froze when he heard the familiar buzzing of her taser.

"Any sudden movement and I'm going to have to zap you again, I'm afraid. Hands up."

Levi barely bit back his curses, lifting his hands up reluctantly. Hell if he was going to let her hit him with that fucking taser again.

"So," She began, almost cheerfully. "What's in your hand there?"

Levi crushed the ice with stinging fingers. "Ice."

She paused. "Methamphetamine?"

Levi scowled. "No.  _Ice_. Frozen fucking water."

She sounded genuinely surprised. "What do you need ice for?"

"My jaw."

"What's wrong with your jaw?"

"I got punched."

"Why'd you get punched?"

"Why the fuck are you interrogating me?" Levi snapped. "If you're going to call the cops on me go the fuck ahead. They're just going to let me go within a few hours anyway."

She was—blessedly—silent for several seconds, her voice much more methodical now. "You have blood on your clothing. I'm pretty sure the cops would keep you for a bit longer than that."

Levi looked down at the small smears of blood on him. He usually kept clean but carrying the brat without being noticed had been a bit of a struggle, drops of it inevitably reaching him though small and nearly invisible—and with a sense of dismay Levi realized he was dealing with someone sharper than he'd pegged her to be.

"It's obvious you were in a fight of some kind—your jaw is swollen. You have blood but it isn't yours because I don't see any open wounds and neither does your nose look broken. It looks like maybe they got one hit in and you did the rest—but your knuckles don't look like you've done some damage so maybe you got away or used a blunt object of some kind—but I think you'd have much more blood on you."

Much, much sharper than he'd thought.

"What do you care?" The ice was beginning to sting the skin of his palm and fingers like licks of fire. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

"It's come to my attention that you've been hanging around Mikasa Ackerman. I want to know why."

Levi turned his head at that, seeing her figure through his peripheral vision. "That's none of your business."

"Actually," She began crisply. "My name is Hange Zoe and I'm Mikasa's teacher. I'm also their—former—social worker and I've been keeping an eye on Eren and Mikasa for quite some time now. Mikasa has been missing some school lately—and I believe you have something to do with it."

Levi flexed his hands. "I'm just a relative. That's all."

"What kind of relative gets her a job at a bar and assaults her friend in a parking lot?"

Levi stiffened. "I never said I was a good one—just that I was one. I doubt all  _your_ relatives are teachers and social workers who go hunting criminals with a taser."

She hummed ruefully. "What's your name?"

He sighed wearily. "Levi."

"Levi…?"

"Tch," He clenched his hands again—seeing the trashcan just behind his right leg. "Ackerman. Levi Ackerman."

"Oh. So you're from her father's side then."

He took a second too long to answer, shifting his weight onto one foot. "Sure."

"Why the sudden interest in Mikasa?"

"Did she go telling on me because of what happened with the blonde brat?"

"Blonde?" Hanji cocked her head. "You mean Armin?" He heard the sudden worry in her voice. "What happened to Armin?"

He shrugged—then ducked, kicking the trashcan towards her. She leapt backwards, barely avoiding the can when he threw the bag of ice at her face, causing her grip to loosen. The taser slipped from her grip and she lunged for it, lifting it back up as quickly as she could—but he was gone.

Hanji hissed, clicking the taser off reluctantly. "Damn."

* * *

"There needs to be a legal guardian." The nurse shoved Eren backwards, roughly removing Armin's clothing. It had taken them long enough to put Armin into a room and by the time they'd finally taken them in their already frayed nerves had lit aflame. "You two can't be in here."

"The hell we can't." Eren's voice was still shaking. "He's our friend.  _We're his only friends._ "

The nurse didn't budge an inch. "Only family is allowed."

Mikasa spoke at that. "Armin is our family."

"Family is different friends, sweetheart."

Mikasa's voice was thin. "Armin only had his grandfather. He died a few years ago." Mikasa took Eren's hand, lacing their fingers to prevent him from snapping again. "He's been on his own ever since. He supports himself. He has no legal guardian."

The nurse looked at Mikasa skeptically. "Is putting your friend in danger more important than letting your parents know you all got into some trouble?"

Mikasa's gaze hardened and deadened at the same time, her body moving forward—but someone stepped into the room, a hand gripping her shoulder tightly.

"Calm down." Hanji stepped in, standing between them and the unpleasant nurse. She lifted her glasses, pulling her bangs back, her eyes stern as she eyed Armin. "I'm Hange Zoe. I'm the guardian."

The nurse eyed Hanji. "Alright. The paperwork is at the front desk."

Hanji nodded, grabbing both Eren and Mikasa. "Come on—"

Eren jerked out of her grip. "No. I'm staying."

"Eren—"

"Don't." Eren bit out, eyes not as wild but just as strained. "I'm staying. I'm not leaving him."

Mikasa looked to the nurse—and she nodded with a sigh.

"We'll be back up shortly." Hanji pressed her hand to the small of Mikasa's back, urging her out of the room.

* * *

While Hanji filled out the paperwork Mikasa paced the halls restlessly, arms wrapped about herself to ward off the chill. There was an odd tightness afflicting her lungs, something sharp lodged in her throat, guilt wracking her as she replayed Levi's words.

" _Is he a fucking idiot, or something? What is he doing out here at this time?"_

She was so used to fussing and keeping track of Eren that she had not thought to make sure Armin had made it home safely that night. She hadn't quite expected something so reckless from Armin, however, hadn't thought he'd be foolish enough to walk in that part of town alone and at night—they had often preoccupied themselves with keeping Eren from doing something brash and foolish—so why,  _why_ had he done it?

What  _had_ he been doing there?

She walked around the corner—and came face to face with Levi.

"Do you ever stay fucking still?" He muttered, grabbing her elbow and leading her towards the elevators. "And really—a hospital? I told you he was fine, didn't I?"

His grip on her arm tightened when her feet dragged, punching the elevator button with barely controlled fury.

Mikasa held back her ire. "What are you doing here, Levi?"

Levi tapped his boot against the tile impatiently, his jaw terribly red, the swelling traveling up to his cheekbone. She didn't feel even a twinge of guilt. "We weren't done talking."

The elevator doors slid open with a groan and they waited until the people cleared from it before entering. Levi pushed her in before him, pressing the button to shut the doors behind him and glaring at the man who tried to slip in viciously enough to make him promptly turn and leave.

"If you came here to offer an excuse as to why you struck Armin," Mikasa murmured, tone dead. "You're wasting your breath."

Levi nearly snorted. "How do you think I get so much cash so quickly?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched defensively. "I thought you said he—Armin, whatever—was the  _smart_ one."

"He is." Mikasa pulled her scarf up. She hadn't really thought Levi had paid attention when she'd spoken of Armin and Eren and it surprised her to see that he had, and he'd remembered. Sometimes she forgot how sharp he was despite his brutality and impatience. "He refuses to lower himself to fighting. He never has." She looked down at her scabbed knuckles. "That's not how I raised him."

Levi shot her an incredulous look. "Raised? Never mind—I don't care how your little dysfunctional family works—I came to tell you something I learned just now." Levi pulled out a cigarette, dimly realizing he was in an elevator and couldn't quite smoke just yet. "The area your friend was in—"

"Armin."

"—was awfully fucking close to where Claude lives, Mikasa. I was heading over there when I ran into him. Considering you're all the same age as Claude's daughter—"

The elevator doors slid open.

A young, relatively handsome man entered, blue collared shirt crumpled about his thick neck and tight about his muscular chest and arms. He seemed engrossed with his cell phone until he spotted Mikasa, large hazel eyes tracing over her appreciatively. The doors slid shut and he continued to face her in the small, confined space, his lips parting to speak after several uncomfortable moments.

"No." Mikasa murmured instantly.

The man clicked his teeth shut, hard jaw working. "I haven't even said—"

The elevator stopped, the doors sliding open. "Here's your stop." Levi shoved the man out; and the fact that the man looked twice his height and weight made the action look comical. "Have a nice fucking day."

"This isn't my floor—"

"It is if you don't want to bleed." Levi shrugged. "But you  _are_ already in a hospital so that would save you some time and effort."

The elevator doors shut, leaving them with a glimpse of the handsome man's horrified expression.

"Don't ever touch Armin again, Levi." Mikasa met his gaze in the dull metal reflection of the shut doors. "Or any of my family."

"You don't have to worry about me harming them, Mikasa." He fiddled with his cigarette, dry skin rasping over the paper longingly. "I told you I didn't care about them and I don't. But if Claude finds you again and sees what they mean to you—what do you think he's going to do?"

Mikasa shut her eyes, lips parting for her quickened breaths. "Why does he still want me?" The elevator kept slipping lower, making her feel as if she was being swallowed whole. "What else does he want from me?"

Levi hesitated, sounding much more subdued. "It's the usual shit. He's petty. You cost him his pride—or so he thinks. You cost him an opportunity to work for the main man himself. Finding you again and delivering you to him—it would give him money, power, redemption— everything he's ever wanted. All he needs to do is get you in his hands and deliver you into his."

"Who," Her words were thick. "Who wants me? Why does he want me?"  
"The devil himself." Levi's lips were thin, blue eyes dull. "What he wants he always gets, one way or another."

"There's no point." She knew she sounded desperate, the stress of the past weeks boiling up viciously. "There's no point in coming after me. I can't give him anything."

"He wanted your mother, at first."

"She's dead." Her nails bit into her palms. "She's dead and she's gone—so what do I matter? I'm not the one he wanted."

"Everyone knew she was a special case, Mikasa. Delivering her in one piece would not only get you a filthy amount of fucking money you'd be in his graces—but they fucked up." Levi couldn't quite look at her, throat working. "You're the next best thing."

"Why did he want my mother?" Mikasa grabbed the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric tightly. "Why does he want  _me_  now?" She pinned him against the wall, eyes fierce. "Tell me  _why_ , Levi."

"For the same fucking reason you're so protective of Eren and Armin." Levi met her gaze, hers alight and agonized, his dull and exhausted. He touched her elbows, oddly submissive as he spoke. "You're his  _family_ , Mikasa—and he's going to do everything and anything to find you and keep you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback (which I'll respond to properly once I can untangle myself from work) it really does mean a lot to me.  
> I've also decided to (mind you, I'm a little nervous about this) take requests.  
> I've been a little frustrated with my wip's so I figured maybe I could help chip away at the block by filling in some prompts.  
> I know my main pairings are rivamika and eremika but I'm pretty open to any mikasa pairings. I'm also open to practically every other pairing you can think of (aruani, jeansasha, beruani, rivetra, springles, yumikuri, mikasasha, arumika, eremin, OT3s like the shiganshina trio, the titan trio, seriously, everything) so feel free to throw them at me on here or tumblr.  
> I'll try my best to fulfill your requests, au or canonverse I have no preference.  
> I can't keep anything short so expect one shots.  
> Thank you so, so much.


	6. Telltale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little warning for awkward teenagers and hormones and slightly explicit material. This is the last chapter before the storm.

"Coffee." Armin supplicated.

Eren shook his head. "The doctor said no caffeine, Armin."

Armin turned his head, bright blue eyes looking up at him pleadingly. "I just want a sip, Eren." Armin shut his eyes, blonde lashes fluttering. "Caffeine makes me feel better. It also helps me think clearly."

Eren's resolve weakened. "I…shouldn't." If Mikasa were here she'd be sterner, he knew, but she wasn't and he'd always been weak against Armin's entreaties. "Fine, I'll bring a cup—but you'll only have a sip."

Armin smiled, looking like an angel who'd been deprived of his wings and needed the help of a mortal. "Thank you."

Eren grumbled as he left the room, nearly crashing into Hanji as he did.

"Is he awake?" Hanji adjusted her glasses, smelling of the cold night air. She'd been outside?

"Yeah. He doesn't remember who hit him. He said he didn't get to see the guy." Eren pushed his fists deep into his pockets. "Where's Mikasa?"

Hanji cocked her head, brown hair straggling. "She isn't here? We sort of got separated and I waited for a while but she took so long I figured maybe she returned here."

Eren shook his head, wondering if he'd upset her somehow. He  _had_  been yelling a lot. "No. I'll go look for her. Keep an eye on Armin for me."

Hanji nodded, already walking in. "Will do."

Eren made his ways to the elevators, bones too weary to walk up the stairs. He'd just been about to push the button when the elevator in the center pinged, the doors parting, a familiar voice carrying towards him.

"— _do everything and anything to find you and keep you."_

He found Mikasa and Levi much too close to one another, her hands clutching at the front of his jacket, his hands on her elbows, faces inches apart. Perhaps at one time Eren would have mistaken it for a romantic embrace, one of passion—but he  _knew_  what Mikasa felt for him, had accepted it without insecurity as best as a teenage boy could. Mikasa  _wouldn't_  and while many others would swear the same thing about their own partners—Eren knew Mikasa down to her very bones, knew her like the scars on his body, like the ones on hers.

She was loyal.

And—right now— _furious._

Every muscle in her body was bunched, her knuckles paper white with the pressure of her grip. Her lips—so often pressed together—were pulled back, teeth bared, an expression he didn't think he'd ever quite seen her wear and if he were any other person he might be frightened.

She looked on the verge of ripping the guy to shreds.

But what made Eren lose his breath was the glint of fear in her dark eyes, how fast her breaths were coming, and in the bright light of the hospital hall he could tell she was trembling—she looked the way she did when she'd just woken from a nightmare.

"Mikasa." Eren stepped forward but she didn't seem to hear him, her eyes still fixed on Levi forcefully.

Levi looked away from Mikasa, hard blue eyes scrutinizing him with distaste. He looked back up at Mikasa, fingers biting into her arms, voice low. "Let me go, Mikasa."

Mikasa whispered something thickly, looking disoriented, like she was trying to untangle her brain from spider webs.

"We have company." Levi informed her.

Mikasa's grip slackened, stepping back—weakly, slowly, as if wading through water or mud and releasing Levi would mean she'd sink down. She stumbled as she pried her hands free, pressing her back to the wall, flattening her palms against it.

"Mikasa?" Eren moved towards her in alarm, hand shooting forward when the elevator doors began to shut—like hell if he was going to leave her alone with _him_. "Mikasa what's wrong?"

She didn't look at him, gaze turned inwards, unresponsive. Levi grabbed her arm, pushing her out the elevator and at Eren roughly. "She's fine." Levi looked at Eren with that same critical expression, as if measuring him and finding him lacking and he loathed it because it was the same way he looked at himself.

"What did you do to her?" Eren pulled Mikasa against him—but at his touch she snapped back to the moment, turning and keeping herself between him and Levi protectively, looking as if she'd attack the devil himself to keep him safe. She placed her hand on his stomach, pushing him back—and he could feel her shaking.

"I'm fine." Mikasa took Eren's hand. "Let's go see Armin."

"No." Eren stood firm when Mikasa tried to pull him away, his green eyes fixed on Levi. "What are you doing here? I heard what you said just now—if Mikasa wants nothing to do with you, leave her alone."

Levi looked at Mikasa pointedly. "Get this fucking kid out of here."

_Kid?_  "I heard you." Eren shook Mikasa's hand off, his voice rising in volume. "You said you were going to do 'everything and anything' to find and keep her."

"Safe," Levi leaned against the wall of the elevator as he pulled his hood up, blue eyes taunting. "I'm keeping her  _safe_."

"She doesn't need your protection. She has us."

"Right." He pressed the tip of a cigarette to his lips. "Because tripping and holding up a garment bag is going to keep all the bad guys away. What the fuck are you, five?"

A garment…bag?

Eren felt the blood drain from his face—he lurched forward, trying to stop the doors from shutting—but Mikasa bent, lifting Eren onto her shoulder and carting him off like he weighed damn near nothing.

"Mikasa!" Eren strained against her hold, cursing when he saw the doors shut, Levi smirking at him infuriatingly as they did. "Put me down! Mikasa, I swear to god if you don't—" She shoved them into an empty hospital room, shutting the door behind them swiftly. "I don't fucking care if he's your mom's friend, I'll kick his fucking—"

Mikasa wrapped her arms around his torso, her forehead dropping onto his left shoulder weakly. He froze at the supplicating gesture, his harsh breathing slowing—she was holding onto him as if he could vanish any second, like she was shattered and he was the glue holding her together. He could feel her small shivers, hear her breath catching and his hand slid up her slender back soothingly.

"I heard what he said." Eren muttered thickly, pressing his mouth to her forehead, stemming his anger with her familiar scent. "What the hell does he want, Mikasa? What did he mean by keeping you safe? Safe from what?"

_Because tripping and holding up a garment bag is going to keep all the bad guys away_. It was him. It was  _him—_ and Mikasa was hanging out with him?

She couldn't know what that meant, he thought, couldn't know the guy had tried to mug him and swiped a knife at him—she would have murdered him in the blink of an eye. But why had he gone after him and why was he following Mikasa around? What the hell did he want from them—from  _her?_

"He doesn't want anything." Mikasa spoke, almost airlessly.

Eren felt his entire body tighten, unsure if he should tell her what the guy had done, petty enough to keep it to himself until she fessed up too. "He said he wants to keep you  _safe,_ Mikasa. Safe from what? From who?" He struggled to speak, something clenched around his throat. "I'm tired of all these damn secrets."

Her nails dug into his lower back. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Eren felt his temper surge up, his skin heating unpleasantly. "I thought—" He tried to stop himself from saying the words but they spilled from his lips anyway. "For a second I remembered that day in the alley. The way I felt. I almost thought you guys were—" He searched her features intently, searching for the right words. "I almost thought you two had something."

Her lashes lowered, guilt written in the lines of her working throat, in the way the edges of her lips tightened. "Eren—"

"You've told me he knew your mother. I didn't like him, Mikasa—I still don't—and I don't understand what's going on  _but there's something you're not telling me_."

She stepped away but he advanced on her.

"Eren—"

" _Just tell me._ " He was on the verge of erupting, could feel himself shaking, didn't want to argue anymore, was so very, very tired. "Please." He pressed his forehead to hers, gripping her elbows. "Just tell me. I know something's going on and I want you to trust me enough to tell me."

"I can't."

He bit down hard, loathing his stubbornness as much as he let it fuel him. "Yes, you can."

"Eren," Her words cut deep, more harshly than they'd ever had before. "Stop. Stop asking me. I can't tell you. I  _can't_."

Eren released her instantly—and she wrapped her arms around herself, already shutting herself away.

"Fine." Eren shook his head, jaw aching. " _Fine._ "

"I'll leave this time." She began thinly, startling him at her abrupt statement. "You don't have to stay anywhere else. I'll pack as soon as we settle Armin in. I don't want him staying alone. Take…" She gave a little shudder. "Take care of him."

It took him a moment to understand what she meant; she meant to give him space. She meant to leave their apartment because she thought it was what  _he_  was going to do. He'd done it before—she had every right to think he'd do it again. He'd left her alone, soothed over his wounds with Armin and Hannes and he'd left her to fend for herself knowing she'd just lost her job, knowing she was exhausted, knowing she was backed into some kind of corner—because of a stupid fit of temper. "You're not going anywhere." He muttered.

"You can't keep going over to Armin's or Han—"

"I'm not." He raked his hand through his hair. "I'm not leaving again and neither are you. We're sticking together, alright? We all are. Family doesn't leave."

Mikasa looked perplexed for a brief moment before shrouding her expression behind her usual stoicism.

"I shouldn't have left the first time." He looked at the ground, the empty bed, the curtains—anywhere but her. "But I was upset. I'm pissed the hell off right now—but I'm not going to make the same mistake twice." He looked at her now, green eyes vivid. "Maybe you're not ready to tell me right now but you will. I'm not dropping this Mikasa. I'm asking you to  _trust_ me."

"I do." She leaned against the wall, her guard crumbling, looking haggard and stretched much too thin. "I want to."

He dragged his hands over his face. "Then why won't you tell me?"

She sat on the hospital bed. "It'll make things worse."

"How? What things?" Eren's tone dropped, his mind grasping at air, trying to find  _something_ that made sense. "Is it money, Mikasa? I know he gave you money—are you trying to pay it back? Because if it is we can figure something—"

"No."

"If I asked you," Eren grabbed her hands, linking their fingers tightly, the pressure almost painful. "If I asked you to stop hanging out with him, to keep away from him—would you do it?"

She wondered briefly—he could see the way her thin brows drew together, the way her fingers curled and uncurled—it was the way she always looked when she was preparing a lie, when she was struggling to hide something and she'd done it since they were children.

Eren shook his head, sighing. Her answer was obvious. She would keep seeing him and what he needed to understand before anything was  _why_. "We'll talk about this when we get home."

She hesitated, nodding, grateful that he would not press it when she was so unsteady and it made Eren wonder when he had become so calm. "Let's go see Armin." He pulled her up onto her feet and kept her hand in his as they walked back.

* * *

They'd released Armin quickly—perhaps to get them all out of their hair—and they'd brought him back to their place despite his protests.

Armin sputtered, the thought of crowding their already small apartment with his problems chagrining him. "I don't have any clothes—"

"I'll pick some up." Mikasa wheeled Armin carefully down the halls, Eren pushing doors and various obstacles aside for them and frightening people out of their way by scowling and barking a curt  _move_.

"I need to feed my cat." Armin tried again, smiling apologetically at the group of women Eren had glared at.

Mikasa slipped her hand into Armin's jacket pocket, retrieving his keys. "Hanji is driving you two home. I'm going to stop by your place and grab you some clothes. I'll feed Cleo."

Armin sighed, giving her a peculiar look but he knew he had no other choice. If he insisted on staying at his place he'd only have Eren and Mikasa move in  _with_ him and the bright side was the opportunities it would present him with to speak to Mikasa about what had occurred and discover her connection to it.

He  _needed_  to speak to Annie and with Mikasa around he knew it'd be nearly impossible. He blinked when the cold night air struck him, shivering as they wheeled him out the hospital doors. Mikasa stopped the wheelchair at the very edge of the sidewalk, removing her jacket and draping it over Armin. He shuddered at the warmth of it, inhaling her familiar scent, letting it lull him into briefly shutting his eyes.

She moved to slip her arms under him but he shook his head. "I can stand, Mikasa."

"Armin—"

He pressed a hand to her shoulder, catching her gaze when she hunched over him. "Please, Mikasa."

Her gaze searched his for a drawn out moment and as reserved and impassive as Mikasa was Armin had always been able to discern what she'd been thinking, what she'd been feeling, and he saw something like vulnerability and guilt shift over her features, her dark eyes flickering over the bandages on his head.

_She feels guilty?_

"What's wrong?" Eren crouched beside them, brows furrowed in concern at their intensity—but Mikasa pulled away.

"Armin doesn't want to let me carry him."

Eren's frown deepened, oblivious. "Armin, you're not at your full strength right now. I know Mikasa can be a little rough so I'll pick you up."

"No." Armin shook his head—winced when his balance tipped at the careless motion. "Ah, wait, I…"

Mikasa touched his shoulders, fingers pressing in, making the sensation of falling over stop. He heard them mutter at each other about who'd carry him—but he felt Eren slip his arms under him, lifting him gently into the car. He opened his eyes to find Hanji sitting in the driver's seat, her glasses glinting from the glow of the hospital lights. She smiled at him tenderly as Eren buckled him in, lifting her glasses over her head.

"How do you feel, Armin?"

He let his head loll back against the seat, the heat of the car easing the ache at his temples. "Sleepy." He admitted.

Her eyes were tender. "Go to sleep then."

He looked out the window to see Eren just outside it, his green eyes on Mikasa as she walked away—and Armin knew that Eren sensed something wrong with Mikasa as much as he did.

* * *

As Mikasa poured the cat food into the metal bowl the cat wound itself restlessly between her feet. It kept meowing in disgruntlement—perhaps at being left alone the entire day or perhaps because she'd been expecting Armin and instead had found her. Mikasa wasn't much of a cat person—she rather thought the cat was attracted to her for this sole reason—but even so she could admit Cleo was beautiful even by feline standards. Her coat was a rich chocolate brown color, eyes an opulent leaf green.

" _It looks like Eren."_ Mikasa had admitted when Armin had first shown her to them.

Eren had looked a little unhappy at the comparison but his hand had run down the cats' back anyway, his features softening when the cat nuzzled his palm with her small nose.  _"She doesn't have my temper, though."_

Mikasa lifted Cleo up in her arms, taking care to keep her scarf away from her claws—when a sudden knock sounded at the doorway. The cat leapt away from her, and Mikasa pulled her knife from her pocket, silently making her way towards the door. It was half past midnight and she didn't know who would visit Armin at this time. She peered into the peephole—and went still.

She'd been a little too incensed to listen much to Levi when he'd tried to speak to her but his words returned to her now.

" _Considering you're all the same age as Claude's daughter—"_

She unlocked the door slowly, incredibly unshaken as her mind made the obvious connections. She kept her hand on the knob as she pulled it open, allowing her eyes to take in Annie's features in much more detail, comparing them to Claude's methodically, as coldly as she could.

They wore the same expression—wariness beneath the carelessness—the same ice blue eyes, the sharp nose, the bright yellow hair. That was perhaps where their similarities ended, however, Annie's build short and strong and her father's tall and stretched thin.

Annie looked irritated to find Mikasa there, her hands loose at her sides, ready for a less than calm reaction. "Where's Armin?"

Mikasa didn't look away from her, speaking slowly. "He was just released from the hospital."

Annie's gaze flickered briefly with surprise—but she shrouded it quickly, pushing her hands in her pockets, voice slightly strained. "What happened to him?"

Mikasa stepped forward. "Don't you know?" Annie clenched her fists at Mikasa's proximity. "He was with you, wasn't he?"

Annie took a step back, grimacing at the accusation. "I let him walk home alone." She looked away, eyes shutting briefly. "I didn't think..."

Mikasa was at the very edge of her restraint, could almost feel the girl's throat beneath her fingers, imagining how frightened Armin must have been, imagining him helpless and hurting—but she shouldn't, not if she wanted to keep a clear head. She knew Levi had been the one to strike him, but Annie had still lured him over there and abandoned him knowing he could have been badly hurt and he  _had_ been—maybe that had been her intention.

But maybe Annie wouldn't have lured Armin at all if her father hadn't ordered her to.

And her father wouldn't have ordered her to if it had been for Mikasa's connection with Armin.

She really had no one to blame but herself—for Armin's injury, for Carla's death, for Grisha's disappearance, for being unable to save her parents—for the horrible things that had happened to them all.

She didn't think she could bear any more guilt than she already did. She needed to do what had to be done and stop hesitating.

She needed to  _leave._

"Keep away from him." Mikasa spoke, heart heavy—and as if moving of their own volition her hands lashed out, gripping Annie's jacket and hauling her against the brick wall. "He wouldn't have been out there if it hadn't been for you." There was a small voice of reason in the back of her mind, one that told her Armin had made his own choice and risked it willingly—but she could only remember the blood in his yellow hair and on his small face, how slight and broken he'd looked on the bench, his cry over the phone.

How terrified she'd been.

Annie shoved at Mikasa, her breath fogging in the cold night air. "Don't touch me."

Annie shoved at her again, breaking her hold—and then she struck her ribs, Mikasa hissing at the pain. Annie swung again but Mikasa twisted, the heel of Annie's hand striking her cheekbone instead. She jerked back when Annie punched at her again, catching her wrist and twisting her to the side. Mikasa delivered a swift kick to the side of Annie's legs, Annie striking the ground hard.

Mikasa crouched over her—Annie scratched at her, nail catching on her lip and tearing her skin viciously—but Mikasa shoved her down, knee pressed to her chest to keep her from moving. "Stop." Mikasa caught her breath, tasting the copper of her own blood. "Stay away from Armin. Stay away from Eren. If I find you anywhere near them again—" Mikasa pressed her fingers to her throat pointedly and Annie struggled to breathe. "I'll break you."

Annie looked up at Mikasa, blue eyes burning, teeth bared and it was perhaps the first time Mikasa had seen the girl so desperate—to be freed or to hurt her or both, she didn't know. "Maybe…" Annie gritted her teeth through her words. "You're the one who should keep her distance—for their sake."

Mikasa released her like she'd burst into flames—and Annie kicked her hard, making her stumble back to keep her balance. Mikasa stood, the words echoing within her skull painfully, leaning against the wall heavily. That was what she'd known, it was what she'd been planning on doing—but it burned to have it said to her, to have someone else tell her the truth, that  _she_ was the threat to her own family. She wiped her bloodied lip, stepping back into Armin's home—when Annie suddenly called out.

"Wait." Annie paused, still on her back, scowling up at the night sky, looking as if she'd rather swallow poison than speak. "He's—" She clenched her jaw, still breathing harshly. "He's alright, though?" Her blue eyes glittered in the low light, something like misery twisting her lips, something like despair in the rasp of her voice. "Armin's okay?"

Annie was like her, she knew. Young girls who had seen too much, who had grown strong beneath the weight of the pain. Being reserved helped in being careful, in being protected and protecting—but her guard was gone as she lay there on the ground, eyes flickering with tears she wouldn't shed.

Had she really not meant to hurt him?

Mikasa slid her cold fingers around the door knob, her breath slowing. It didn't matter. They both needed to stay far away from them. They had the same thorns wrapped around them, the same claws and teeth and pressing any closer would only cut the people around them up. "Yeah." She picked up Cleo, deciding she might as well take the cat with her. She didn't think she'd let Armin back home for a long, long time. "Armin's safe—as long as he's away from you. As long as he's away from the both of us."

She shut the door, pretending not to hear the soft breath of relief Annie gave to the night.

* * *

Eren lifted Armin up the stairs gently, placing him on his bed and tucking him in. He smoothed his blonde hair away from his face, placing his medication on the nightstand beside the bed along with a glass of water.

He'd wanted to ask him a million questions— _what were you doing over there, at this time, with who, don't you know how dangerous it is?_ —but he'd held his tongue. Armin's head had been hurting and as soon as they'd gotten him in the car he'd begun nodding off.

Eren removed his jacket as he walked down the hall, his body feeling terribly worn down.

Hanji was sitting in the living room, straddling the arm of the couch, scrolling through her phone. She'd been unusually quiet during the drive, lost in her thoughts, the working of her jaw the only tell of her inner distress. She looked up suddenly, her glasses glinting with the light from her screen eerily. "I called Hannes."

Eren scowled. "You shouldn't have told him." He could hear Hannes calling him an idiot already.

Hanji hummed. "He didn't answer—I'm sure he's asleep—but he'll hear it in the morning and I'm sure he'll be pounding on your door bright and early. He's like your father, you know. He cares about you like you all were his own and he most definitely deserves to know." Hanji slid her phone into her pocket, clasping her hands the way she always did before giving him a lecture. "I also think,"

"Don't." Eren shook his head, walking over to the kitchen as if he could cut off the conversation with mere distance. "Don't think."

"It would be better if you all lived with Hannes, Eren." Hanji looked at him sternly. "Just until you all graduate."

"No." Eren mussed his hair. "We've already caused him enough trouble."

"You have," Hanji smiled a little. "But he's always wanted to take you all in, Eren. When I was your social worker I asked him once—if he'd be willing to adopt you and Mikasa, even Armin."

Eren kept his gaze on the kitchen table. "We don't need foster parents." He muttered. They'd had enough unpleasant experiences to know being adopted wasn't in the cards for them. Eren had been too angry, too hurt and rebellious and Mikasa had been too silent and reserved to form any bonds with anyone else. They'd been too old, too troubled, wounds too fresh—who wanted a bunch of troubled teenagers? How many times had they gone through it? How many times had they tried? How many times had they threatened to separate them?

"Hannes is different, Eren." Hanji was watching him with that perceptiveness she'd always possessed and it made him uneasy. "You couldn't get rid of him if you tried and vice versa. You're all already a family—think of how good it could be, Eren." Hanji lifted her hand, counting off. "You wouldn't have to worry about rent. Mikasa wouldn't have to work. Hannes would have someone to come home to instead of being alone. You could take care of him as much as he'd take care of you."

Eren scowled. "Maybe  _you_ should move in with him."

Hanji looked taken aback for a moment—but recovered. "You want me to be your mom?"

Eren sat down, weakly dropping his head onto the table. As sharp as the woman was sometimes she really  _didn't_ understand. But what could he say? Mikasa had lost her parents, he'd lost his, Armin had lost them too—and they  _didn't_  want to risk it again. They'd been on their own since they were kids and trying to find replacement parents wasn't something they wanted.

There was always a chance of them being taken away again.

There was only so much they could  _live_  through.

"We're fine." Eren muttered, unsure if she'd be able to understand him, muffled as his words were pressed against the table.

"Well," Hanji stood, fiddling with her keys. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. I'll come check on you all after work." She stood beside him, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Get some rest, Eren."

Eren sighed. "Yeah." He sat up, looking at the clock. "I'm just going to wait up for Mikasa."

Hanji peered out the window. "She's just pulling in. I'm going to head on home now." She buttoned up her jacket quickly. "Good night, Eren. Think about what I said."

She slammed the door much too hard, earning a thump and a shout from the neighbors on the floor above.

* * *

Mikasa slung the duffel bag strap over her head, carrying Cleo up the steps swiftly. She was running on the little energy she had left now, desperate to collapse into bed. She'd made it about halfway when she nearly collided with Hanji, her energy palpable.

"Oh! You brought Cleo?" Hanji tried to pet the cat but it hissed at her. Hanji laughed. "Damn cat never liked me. Armin says it's because I'm unpredictable and it unsettles her."

Mikasa had known Armin had brought Hanji over to his place quite a few times but their familiarity still sometimes left her brooding. It had been the cause of much talk among the peers and school staff alike—but it had quieted when they'd discovered she'd been their former social worker, her interest suddenly justified in their narrow-mindedness. Mikasa had always been a little wary of the eccentric woman, grudgingly coming to accept her because of Armin's attachment and how much he enjoyed her company.

Armin had never had many friends to begin with and Hanji had always given him an intellectual outlet—one she and Eren had never been able to quite provide as well as she had. It had evolved from grudging acceptance to a genuine fondness with the woman's eccentricity, with her passion and intelligence and kindness and Mikasa sometimes thought if she had had an aunt or another adoptive mother she would not have minded if it had been Hanji.

"Mikasa," Hanji began, reaching up to lift her chin, her eyes fixed on her mouth. "Who hit you?"

Mikasa pulled away, touching her cut lip. She'd almost forgotten about her scuffle with Annie. How would she explain this to Eren? She'd been so tired she hadn't been able to think of anything beyond getting home and sleeping.

Mikasa looked down at the cat in her arms. "I surprised Cleo. She scratched me."

Hanji sighed, pulling her glasses up onto her head—and Mikasa knew the lie had been useless. "Mikasa—the man who struck Armin and who tried to mug Eren and I—you know him, don't you?"

Mikasa lifted her gaze in brief surprise. "The man…you and Eren were mugged?"

"Almost mugged." Hanji corrected, her features stern. "He didn't tell you, did he?"

Mikasa shook her head.

Hanji nodded, the knowledge only confirming her suspicions. "It's the same man, isn't it? Short, dark hair, blue eyes, constipated expression?"

Mikasa felt the control slipping from her grip, recalling Levi's words of keeping everything between them, if anyone else knew it would only hurt them. "He's not…" Mikasa looked away. Lying had never been her strongest suit. "He's trying to help me." It was all she could say and she knew it wasn't enough that Hanji would dig because that is what she did best—but instead Hanji gave her a small sad smile, and she knew she would not push her for anything more.

"You know you can come to me for help, Mikasa." Hanji reached out, placing her hand on her shoulder, ignoring the disgruntled rumble Cleo gave at the contact. "You know I can have you all moved into another town, another state—if you need me to."

Mikasa shook her head. "No, thank you." What good would it do? She'd be gone in no time and they'd be safe—or at least safer.

Or would they?

This neighborhood was still awful, still dangerous and what guarantee did she have that Claude wouldn't still have run of the town once she and Levi were gone?

Wouldn't moving Eren and Armin to another neighborhood, a good one, secure their safety much more surely?

"Are you sure?" Hanji murmured, as if sensing her struggle.

"I…" Mikasa ran her fingers through Cleo's fur, finally sure she was making at least one right decision. She may have to run—but Eren and Armin would still have each other, still have Hanji and Hannes and perhaps with a good neighborhood they'd be able to find peace and happiness and stability.

Without her.

"I think moving would be the best." Cleo nuzzled her throat, sensing her distress. "For all of us."

* * *

She had not finished closing the door before Eren's eyes fixed on her split lip. "What happened?"

Mikasa licked the cut self-consciously. "Cleo scratched me."

He narrowed his eyes. "That's complete bullshit, Mikasa."

"When did you almost get mugged, Eren?" She felt her own anger claw up her stomach. How many times had Eren asked her to be honest with him? Ask her to tell him everything, to trust him—when he'd been keeping secrets of his own.

He cursed, hands clenching. "Hanji told you, didn't she?"

Mikasa pressed her lips together—reminding herself that she should direct her anger towards Levi and not Eren but she felt it twist her up anyway. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because," Eren gestured. "You'd overreact—and besides, that's in the past. What happened to your lip?"

_Overreact._ She spoke very quietly. "It's in the past." She moved to walk down the hall—but he grabbed her sleeve, tugging her back. He sighed wearily, his thumb passing over her lip, brows furrowing at the deepness of the scab.

His green eyes didn't move away from her, swallowing her whole the way they always had, an anger and tenderness in his gaze that weakened her. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

She shook her head, trying to slow the skittering of her heart. "It's just a scratch."

He watched her intently for a few more moments—but gave in, shoulders slumping. "Have you eaten today?" Eren asked, taking the bag off her shoulders and shutting the door behind her.

She put Cleo onto the couch, letting the cat explore the inside of their apartment, hoping their landlord wouldn't discover they'd brought a cat. "I ate breakfast." She murmured, too tired to let her anger linger.

Eren sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed a pan. "Let me make you something. You shouldn't fall asleep on an empty stomach. You'll wake up with a headache."

Mikasa didn't argue, grabbing two glasses and plates instead, placing them on the table while he cooked. She didn't really know  _when_ Eren had become the cook but she knew that she was grateful—she was a decent one, but she'd never liked cooking, never enjoyed it while Eren always had.

Armin had set a few things on fire the few times he'd tried to cook and Mikasa had cooked a dish well enough but she'd never gone out of her way to add any spices or flavors or quite cared about the taste—food was fuel and nothing more. Eren had swept them aside whenever they'd tried, telling them to sit—and they'd watched as he'd chop and slice and salt everything diligently, green eyes intent as he arranged the food on the plate until he was satisfied.

Eren pressed the small slivers of chicken against the sizzling pan one last time before sliding them onto their plates, passing her the black pepper before she could ask for it. She sprinkled it as he tugged out two Tupperware bowls form the refrigerator, serving them both a side of cold salad and fruit.

She chewed slowly, watching Eren fuss about the kitchen like she always had.

"I'll clean up." She watched as he placed the pan in the sink. "Eat."

He sat, digging his fork into several pieces of lettuce. "Is he bothering you?" Eren looked her straight in the eye—he always had—and the green of them intensified in the low light. "I heard what he said, Mikasa." His fingers were white about the handle of the fork. "We can tell Hannes."

She shook her head. "You misunderstood."

"Then help me understand."

"He just wants to help me. That's all." She pushed her plate away—but Eren pushed it back.

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

" _Eat."_ Eren insisted, chewing around a scowl. "I cooked that for you."

"You can finish it."

"You drowned it in a mountain of black pepper." Eren swallowed. "I take one bite, I die."

Mikasa shoved another piece of chicken in her mouth reluctantly. She really didn't think she put that much black pepper.

They finished dinner quietly, tiredly, the only sound of the dishes clinking and the water running as Mikasa washed them. Eren pulled himself up on the counter beside her, looking out the window thoughtfully as he sat with his hands clasped.

"Do you think we'll always be together?"

Mikasa looked at him in brief surprise, looking down at her soapy hands. "Yes and no."

Eren leaned back, his head resting against the cabinet awkwardly. "I know a lot of friends go their separate ways when they grow up and stuff." He shrugged. "But we're different. Me, you and Armin…we're a family."

Mikasa rinsed the glass, fingers clasped about it so tightly she was sure it'd shatter. "Those break up, too."

"We won't." Eren reached over when she shut the water off, tossing her the hand towel. "We've survived a lot, you know." He bent his head, eyes unfocused, looking much younger for a moment, reminding her of when they'd been children, of the way he'd always believed and strove for the impossible and the way she had always known better. "I don't think anything could separate us."

Mikasa dried her hands slowly, swallowing the tightness in her throat. "What brought this on, Eren?"

"I don't know." He jumped off the counter, grabbing her hand. "Maybe thinking about life after high school, I guess. College, career choices and all that crap. You still haven't told us where you plan on going."

Mikasa pulled her scarf up with her free hand, saying nothing. She didn't think she could lie again, didn't want to put yet another stone between them. "I…just haven't thought about it." And she hadn't, really. How could she with everything going on?

"Are you sure?" He held her gaze, his face only inches from hers, his eyes asking her to tell him the truth. "There's not another reason?"

For a moment she weakened. For a moment she imagined telling him everything, about Levi and Claude and Annie, telling him that all of the wounds on his soul had been because of her existence. For a moment she tried to imagine what he'd say, what he'd think and feel, imagined him holding her and telling her they'd figure something out, that no, she wouldn't leave and he wouldn't let her.

Or would he hate her? He'd be angry, she knew, perhaps he'd feel hatred towards her but Eren was good, Eren would still not let her face it on her own, and while he kept her by him his resentment would only grow.

Either way he would not let her leave.

And staying meant risking his life, risked losing him, seeing him dead on the ground like the way her parents had been broken, risked seeing Armin lifeless on the ground—and no matter how weak she felt, how much she wanted to confess everything and cling to him with all of her might she couldn't, and  _wouldn't._

She'd done enough.

She shut her eyes, curling her fingers tightly. "No."

Eren frowned—but gave in. "Alright." He sighed wearily. "Let's go to bed."

Mikasa nodded, letting him pull her close, his mouth touching her forehead. "I'm still not dropping it, though." He breathed.

She shut her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing in his scent. "I know."

The boy never did learn how to give up.

* * *

Eren had just gotten ready for bed when he found that he needed to go to the bathroom, reluctant to use his own lest he wake Armin.

He crept over to Mikasa's bedroom, knocking on the door softly. She was most likely asleep and if she was he wouldn't wake her. He pushed the door open a sliver, peering in—and found her sleepily sitting up in bed.

"Shit—sorry—can I use your bathroom?"

Mikasa nodded groggily, raking her hair back.

He walked in, leaving the door open behind him. "Go back to bed."

She nodded, lying back onto her side and pulling the covers up to her chin. He shut the bathroom door behind him, quickly doing his necessities and brushing his teeth. He washed his hands and found no hand towel to dry them with, stepping out of the bathroom and grabbing her towel off her chair. It was the same dark purple towel she'd had wrapped about her bare body when she took a shower, and the thought made his throat a little dry. He put the towel back down quickly.

He looked over to her, seeing her curled on her side with the blankets drawn up to her nose. "You asleep?"

She kept her eyes closed. "No."

"Well, you should be." He fidgeted a moment, licking his lips.

He saw the small smile she tried to hide. "Good night, Eren."

He moved over her, pressing his hands onto the mattress on either side of her and she angled her upper body up to face him. "Good night, Mikasa." He traced her features with his gaze slowly, eyes stopping at her soft mouth, at the small wound there. He dipped his head lower, slowly, hesitantly, as if asking if giving her a good night kiss was okay.

She tipped her head up in answer, touching his mouth with hers, swallowing the small sound he made. Their mouths moved together gently, the room dead quiet, punctuated by their soft breaths and the harsh beating of their hearts. He'd never known his mouth could feel so much, that a kiss could be felt deep in his chest, his stomach, the arches of his feet. It made his skin warm and his blood warmer, every shift of her lips and brush of her tongue robbing him of breath—and he finally understood why people kissed the way they did, as if they wanted to devour one another, as if they were starved.

She broke the kiss for a gasp of breath and his mouth followed hers instantly, his teeth catching at her bottom lip and urging her lips back to his. He let her pull him atop her as he shoved the blankets aside, his knee sliding between her thighs and pressing up, parting her bare legs so he could crouch over her—and he shut his eyes when he found the only thing she wore was an oversized t shirt, skin warm and soft beneath the cotton.

She tugged his shirt off his head, her palms smoothing down the sides of his neck and over his broad shoulders. Her fingertips lingered over the scar on his left shoulder, pressing into it as if she could erase it from his body. His own hands roved over her, hesitantly at first then more surely, hooking her legs over his narrow waist, sliding up her flat stomach.

He broke their kiss to pull her shirt off her head, baring her body to him, his eyes tracing over her helplessly. The line of her throat had always looked frail, the sharpness of her collarbones deceptively cloaking her strength. Her breasts were small and full, and his hands and mouth ached to feel them. Her stomach was as hard and defined as his own—but her skin was soft, incredibly sensitive to his touch. He slid his palms over the swell of her hips and to her knees, slipping back up to retrace his steps.

He looked back up—and found her gaze fixed on his features sharply, reading every flicker of emotion he gave. She did not look ashamed, nor embarrassed and he wasn't surprised at her confidence, letting it calm his nerves if only a little.

He slid his mouth down her throat, lingering over the thrashing pulse at the base of it as his hand tentatively slid between her thighs. She stiffened for a moment and he froze in response, swallowing thickly—maybe this was too fast, too much too soon.

"Mikasa." He muttered, thoughts hazed but clear enough to know where this was going. "I…" She arched beneath him again, parting her thighs further.

"It's okay, Eren." She dragged her nails down his back slowly, hard enough to sting and make his back muscles bunch—but it felt good, too, and if touching her like this made her mark him up he couldn't bring himself to mind much at all.

Eren shuddered, nodding and dropping his forehead to hers. "Okay."

Their breaths mingled as he slid his hand over her, his breath catching at the softness of her center. And it was odd—he knew the strength of her, knew she was very much stronger than him, had seen the brutality as well as the grace of it—but he was suddenly very afraid of hurting her.

Shakily, he pressed a finger into her, throat working at the scorching wetness. "Is this okay?" His voice was a croak.

She squeezed her eyes shut, brow furrowed, dropping her head back onto the pillow. "Yes."

He moved his fingertip higher, knowing enough to know what he was looking for—and if he hadn't been sure he'd know when he  _did_ find it her body informed him, her legs jerking and her back arching when he brushed across it.

She didn't make a sound as he pressed in again, her hands clawing at the sheets beneath her. He watched her features raptly, the way her lashes fluttered, her cheeks and chest flushing red prettily. He quickened his touches, circling experimentally—his breath catching when she gave him a soft moan, the sound spiking his blood.

"Mikasa," Eren covered her mouth with his, breathing in her scent, the very air from her lungs. He brushed the roof of her mouth his tongue, her thighs clenching around his hand, her body tightening. "You're so soft." Her legs began to tremble, and he hoped she couldn't feel him shaking, too, that she couldn't see how insecure he was.

He pressed his thumb into her, catching the small nub between his fingers carefully, the bed creaking as she shook, her nails digging into his skin painfully. She groaned his name, burying her face in his throat and breathing harshly, her knees hooking over his hips. He tried to pull away to keep watching her expression but she only clung to him harder, digging her nails into him fiercely.

He licked his lips. "Am I—does it feel good?" The question felt awkward but he couldn't be sure, could only hazard a guess, his control restrained by a frayed thread. He'd been hard since he'd first kissed her but now it was almost an  _ache._ He wanted to feel her around him, wanted to connect them, wanted to lose himself in her and damn the consequences. But he didn't want to screw this up like he usually did, didn't want to mess up and leave her dissatisfied.

She nodded, pressing another moan against his mouth, letting him hear the pleasure he was giving her. Her hand slid down his stomach, sliding beneath the band of his shorts, gripping his erection tightly.

He cursed, jerking into her hand helplessly. "Wait, Mikasa, I…" But she moved her hand and all his focus centered on the feel of her fingers and soft palm wrapped around him, a groan vibrating in his throat. But  _no,_ this wasn't how he'd wanted it to go—he'd wanted to focus on her, to make sure she was satisfied first.

_If_  he could even accomplish that—because he desperately needed to.

"Wait, Mikasa." He gripped her wrist, tugging her hand away from him with a hiss. "Not yet." He slid lower, out of her reach, his mouth slipping over her chest and down her stomach. She threaded her fingers in his thick brown hair, parting her thighs willingly for his head—when they suddenly heard a  _thunk_  and a curse come from the hall.

They both stiffened simultaneously and Eren lifted the blanket over them both instantly.

Mikasa sat up but Eren kept her on the bed— _where had she pulled a knife from_?—and Mikasa's features went carefully blank. "Armin?"

Eren's neck cracked when he turned to look, seeing a flustered Armin in the doorway, his hands clapped over his eyes. "I'm sorry!" Armin stumbled, voice warbling. "I just woke up alone and I heard a noise and I came to check on it and—I'm sorry—I just—I'll go away now."

Mikasa put the knife down, sliding over to the other side of the bed. She pulled her shirt back on and so did Eren, trying to cool his body and thoughts.

" _Fuck._ " Eren groaned, raking his hands through his hair. " _Armin saw_ —he saw us—we were—"

Mikasa was blushing furiously, staring at the floor as if it could swallow her whole. "You should go talk to him."

"Me?" Eren croaked.

Suddenly she was pushing him out the door, slamming it shut behind him much too loudly—earning another thump and shout from the neighbors above.

* * *

They ate breakfast as if they were in a cemetery—quiet, uncomfortable and morbid.

Eren busied himself a bit more than usual at the stove, making one too many pancakes and piling them on their plates as if they could create walls between them. Mikasa ate them all diligently while Armin mostly fiddled with his fork, sighing and finally putting it down.

"You two know…to use condoms right?"

Eren nearly tipped the pan over, hearing Mikasa quietly choke on her mouthful.

"Armin!"

Armin smiled sheepishly. "I'm just…I'm glad you two are alright, you know." Color dusted over his cheeks. "But you two aren't exactly known to think clearly when it comes to each other. So I just want to make sure everything is…taken care of."

Eren sat down, dropping his head into his hands and groaning.

"Armin," Mikasa pulled her scarf up higher than usual. "We're fine."

"Okay." He spun his fork nervously. "I just wanted to make sure. You should always wear condoms." He shut his eyes as he forced himself to continue. "It's not likely but even the slightest—ah, insertion—can cause pregnancy, you know."

Eren was sinking lower and lower in his chair.

Mikasa frowned suddenly, her embarrassment dissipating with her next question. "Where did you learn these things?"

Armin blinked. "I read a lot." He licked his lips. "I've even lent a few books to Eren."

Eren looked about ready to crawl under the table—when a hard knocking sounded at the door. Eren leapt to his feet, stumbling towards it like it would offer him salvation. "Coming!" He ripped the door open—and even at Hannes's furious expression Eren slumped in relief. "Hey Hannes."

"Hey?  _Hey?_ " Hannes stepped forward, looking livid, skin mottled red. "I get a message from Hanji telling me Armin was beat up and left bleeding on a bench where you two went to pick him up  _without_ calling the cops— _without calling me_ —and taken to the  _hospital_  and you tell me 'hey'?"

Eren touched the back of his head, scowling a little. "Well when you word it that way—"

"Is there any other damn way to word it?" Hannes shouted, slamming the door shut. "What the hell were you thinking, Eren?"

Eren huffed, gesturing vaguely. "We took care of it ourselves, didn't we?"

"Yeah, next time you might not be so lucky, Eren." He looked to Armin, eyeing the bandages around his head. "You alright, Armin?"

Armin nodded. "Just a little headache and lightheadedness."

Hannes grunted. "What were you doing over there in the first place?"

Armin averted his gaze. "I was…visiting a friend."

"The only  _friends_  over there are drug users and providers. I thought you were smart enough to keep away from that, Armin."

"Hannes." Mikasa chided, her dark eyes switching from him to Armin in concern. "It isn't like that. Armin isn't like that."

"I thought you would be the levelheaded one, Mikasa." Hannes shook his head. "I thought  _you_  would call me."

"We weren't thinking clearly." Mikasa explained quietly, guilt beneath the impassiveness. "By the time things settled down Hanji had already called you and left you a message."

His scowl lessened slightly. "This is the last straw." He gestured to them, the apartment, looking suddenly awkward. "You're all moving in with me."

"What?" Eren shook his head. "No. We're fine. Graduation is around the corner and—"

"I don't give a rat's ass." Hannes snapped. "You're going to be going through the Police Academy anyway so since you're not moving off to college—"

"Police Academy?" Mikasa's question was terribly quiet, voice soft, knife-like and it silenced them all more effectively than a shout would have. Her dark eyes were fixed on Eren and there was no escape from her scrutiny. "You're going to be a police officer?"

"I…" Eren fumbled, throwing Hannes a reproachful glare. "Yeah. Yeah, it's what I want to do, Mikasa."

Mikasa didn't look away. "When were you going to tell me?"

Eren crossed his arms. "When you told me what you were planning to do."

Mikasa watched him for a few more moments, perhaps trying to grasp his spitefulness—but Hannes interrupted them. "If you want to enter the Police Academy you're moving in with me."

Eren's green eyes flashed in fury. "Are you telling me if I don't move in with you I won't get into it?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you." Hannes jabbed a finger into his chest. "Becoming a police officer isn't only about the physical, Eren, it isn't about shooting the bad guys—"

" _I know that_ — _"_

"It's about being responsible, about learning how to control your temper, your emotions, and being able to handle situations that are out of your control. You can't do any of that."

"I'll learn."

"You can't. Not like this. Not struggling to make it on your own and going through intense testing and training—you'll break, Eren."

"No, I won't."

"You will."

Eren paced, gesturing angrily as he spoke. "You really think I'm that weak, Hannes? I've been through—I watched my mother—"

Hannes looked away. "It's  _because_  of that, Eren. It's because of those things that you need to clear your head and heal before you enter the Police Academy. You won't make it without letting that go, first."

"And if I don't?" Eren's jaw clenched. "If I don't 'heal' beforehand and I don't move in with you?"

Hannes held his gaze for a long time before speaking, voice low. "I'll tell them I think you're unfit to be a police officer."

Eren laughed, the sound bitter, livid. "Yeah. I guess you will." He grabbed his jacket, pulling it on as he walked towards the door. "I'm going for a walk."

"Eren," Armin called but Eren slammed the door without another word.

Hannes cursed, breathing deep and slow. "I'm going after him." He looked at Armin and Mikasa, pointing at them sternly. "You two stay put."

The door slammed shut for a second time and Mikasa began to wonder if they'd need to repair it before they moved out.

* * *

They did as Hannes had asked, staying in the apartment for the entire day. Armin enjoyed Mikasa's quiet company, let her fuss over him as she wrapped blankets around him, changed his bandages and made sure he took his pills on time—but as they sat on the couch and watched the cartoons she was so fond of he couldn't help but remember the man who had struck him, the man who had spoken to her that day in the alley.

" _Please…help me."_

He reached for the remote, lowering the volume before speaking. "Hey, Mikasa…"

She blinked, looking as if she'd been lost within her thoughts. "Yes?"

"I remember who struck me." She went very still at his words. "Actually, I've known this entire time but I told everyone I didn't because…" He looked at her intently, blue eyes steady and perceptive. "Because I've seen him before—with you, Mikasa."

She did not look at him, her breath bated, her fingers curled into her palms. "Armin…"

"The day Annie and you fought—I saw you speaking to him in the alleyway. Levi, right?"

Mikasa shut her eyes, her breathing shallow.

"You can tell me, Mikasa. You know you can trust me."

She was beginning to shake now—and Armin reached out, taking her hand and threading their fingers together. "I'll deal with it on my own." She squeezed his hand to show her gratefulness, her hair falling forward as her brow furrowed. "The less you know…the safer you are."

He frowned. "Mikasa—"

Someone slammed into their front door, making them both jump. Mikasa was on her feet in a flash, fists clenched as the door was shoved open—and Hanji stumbled in, hair loose and jumbled about her jaw and shoulders. "Good morning!" There was a large envelope tucked under her arm. She dumped it on the table and sat on the couch beside Armin, ignoring Mikasa as her hands touched over Armin's bandages. "How do you feel?"

Armin sighed as Mikasa shut the door, smiling at Hanji welcomingly, his thoughts still on Mikasa's words. "I feel fine."

"Hm," Hanji hummed, gaze stern. "No reading or studying. Take it easy."

Armin nodded, letting her ruffle his hair affectionately. "Of course."

She turned to face Mikasa now, accepting the cup of coffee she handed her. "Oh, thank you. I can't stay very long. I've been asked to help decorate for prom." She sighed wearily. "Also, I saw Hannes and Eren leave just now. They looked miserable." She sipped lightly. "I'm assuming Eren didn't take moving in with him too well, did he?"

Armin sighed, pulling the blanket onto his lap. "You have no idea."

* * *

"You look beautiful, Mikasa."

Mikasa startled a little, lifting her dark eyes to find Sasha standing down the hall. Sasha was wearing a pale ice blue dress, the skirt touching the ground, the slit coming up to mid-thigh, exposing pretty silver heels. The top was a tight fitting corset, covered in iridescent jewels; her hair pulled up and riddled with glittery pins and intricate braids. Her lips were colored a soft sea shell pink, her eyes sharpened with neatly applied eyeliner, making her usually round and cheerful expressions seem darker and sultry.

She was lovely.

Sasha grinned, kicking her hip out in a pose—then laughed at herself, flushing a little. "You should have seen Connie's face! Knocked the wind out of him." She walked over to her, grabbing her hands and pulling her to face her. "I can't wait to see Eren's face when he sees you, though!" Sasha pulled back a little, eyeing the short black dress, the filmy, shimmery material, the long expanse of Mikasa's legs. "Jean's going to  _cry_." Her large brown eyes snagged on her painted red lips—and the red scarf wrapped around her waist.

Mikasa touched it possessively.

Sasha smiled. "You look like a princess, Mikasa. Or like one of those girls who pretends to be a normal high school teenager but is also a vampire slayer at night." Sasha blinked several times, grimacing. "This mascara is killing me. How do I look?"

Mikasa eyed her once again, how graceful she looked, poised and regal. "Like a queen."

Sasha laughed now. "I do, don't I?"

"Sasha," Mikasa watched her continue to blink, the words tumbling from her lips before she could bite them back. "Thank you."

Sasha's laughter cut off at her sudden seriousness. "For what?"

Mikasa frowned, recalling thoughts of sitting with the girl for lunch, of how Sasha had never shied away from being her friend when other girls had, of the way Sasha put her chin on her shoulder and asked for a bite whenever she ate, the way she'd never let her be the odd person out when they'd needed partners in class. "Just." She wrung her fingers in the material of her scarf, pushing everything down with sheer force of will. Calm, controlled, she reminded herself. Now was not the time for sentimentality. "Thank you."

"Oh." Sasha bit her lip—and perhaps she sensed the heaviness Mikasa was struggling with because she reached out, touching her hair gently. "You're welcome." She ran her thumb over scarred knuckles. "And thank you, too. For lending me pencils and helping me with homework and not letting anyone call me names."

Mikasa nodded—and Historia came down the hall, smiling at them both. "Our ride is here."

Sasha made a soft sound, grabbing the small bag of cosmetics she'd brought, grabbing Mikasa's hand and squeezing affectionately. "Let's go have some fun."

* * *

"Man, this is stupid." Eren kicked a soda can off the sidewalk, the streetlamp overhead elongating his shadow. "Why couldn't we just pick her up? Why did we have to get ready separately?" He threw the questions at Armin angrily, his hands stuffed in his suit jacket, his converse scuffed and worn, a sharp contrast to his suit. He kind of liked the way they looked with the suit though, a piece of his personality still present—and maybe he thought, he looked a little cool.

"All the girls wanted to get ready at the same place and your place was picked since you two are going to move out of it." Armin explained for the fifth time, sitting on the bench calmly, blue eyes scanning the crowds slinking into the front entrance. Eren had agreed to move in with Hannes after nearly an hour of arguing. He hadn't had much reason to fight but what had convinced him was when Hannes had told him Mikasa would be able to quit her job and focus on school, that the worry of bills wouldn't be hers anymore.

It hadn't been for him at all. It had been for her.

"Stop tugging at your sleeves." Armin chided.

Eren sighed. "They're late. Maybe we should go over and see what's taking them so long." He eyed Armin thoughtfully, gauging his reaction.

If Eren looked like a punk trying to dress up Armin looked every inch a young wide eyed prince among the common people, suit dark and tailored to perfection, collar up and crisp. His shoes looked so glossy he'd almost thought they were wet and his blonde hair had been pulled back into a neat ponytail, his small but sharp jaw exposed handsomely. "I wouldn't advise it. Unless," Armin fidgeted with the buttons at the hollow of his throat, unbuttoning three of them. "You want to be surrounded by half dressed women and get thrown out by Mikasa again."

Eren clucked his tongue in irritation. "No, I just—I mean it's not like I couldn't pick  _her_  up. Like I couldn't  _see_ her. It's not like we're getting married or anything." Eren flushed suddenly, becoming very, very warm.

"You're blushing again."

"No, I'm not." Eren bit out. Armin was fiddling with something sparkly and silver now, and Eren narrowed his eyes. "Are you holding a hair clip?"

It was Armin's turn to flush pink now. "It's a brooch."

"Whatever it's called." Eren tried to grab for it. "Who is it for?"

Armin jerked it away. "No one."

"Armin." Eren kept trying to grab for it. "Let me see it."

"It's private." Armin walked around the bench.

Eren contemplated jumping over it. "Now  _you're_  blushing."

Armin clenched his small hand around the small piece, flushed bright red. "No, I'm not."

Eren sat down reluctantly, relenting before Armin could combust. "Fine." He looked at him over his shoulder. "Sit down." He let his head drop back, looking up at the sky. "I got Mikasa something too."

Armin sat beside him. "What is it?"

Eren reached into his pocket, tugging out the heavy locket they'd examined that night they'd scuffled with the thieving couple. Eren held it out, the chain glinting as it spun slowly in the low light.

Armin took it tentatively. "You kept it."

Eren nodded. "Cleaned it up a bit with the money we got from selling the rest of them."

Armin pushed the latch, opening the locket gently. He didn't look surprised to find a photo of the three of them—damp messy hair and sunburnt skin, Eren's arms wrapped about both their skinny necks. He could remember that afternoon—Hannes had picked them all up on a whim, taking them to the water park they'd never been able to get into without parents. Eren's grin was the brightest, his front tooth missing, knuckles scabbed over from a fight from a week before; Armin was hugging Eren tightly, long blonde hair wetly plastered to his skin like a flattened squid; and Mikasa had her wet scarf wrapped around her chin and mouth, her eyes watching them both with a warmth she'd always shown but never spoke.

"I didn't know what other picture to get." Eren cleared his throat. "There was one when we'd graduated eighth grade but I looked pissed as hell because Jean called you creepy and you looked sad and Mikasa had her scarf over her face."

Armin winced. "Yeah, I remember." Armin touched the photo gently. "This one is perfect."

Eren cocked his head. "You're not just saying that?"

Armin shook his head. "No. I'd tell you to change it if I thought there was a better photo." Armin handed it back to Eren, watching him carefully place it back into his pocket.

Armin conceded, holding the small brooch up for Eren's inspection. "It was my grandmother's."

Eren took it much the same way Armin had grabbed the locket, carefully, as if worried he'd snap it with the slightest pressure from his fingers. It was just as antique as the locket seemed if not more ostentatious—sapphire jewels encrusting the polished gold in the shapes of stars.

"Who is it for?"

Armin smoothed the front of his jacket nervously. "Annie."

Eren froze. "Armin…" He'd never call Armin naïve—Armin knew of their world much too well, often preventing Eren from being too naïve himself—but giving a girl who wasn't doing too well a family heirloom was asking for disaster. "You know she's—"

Armin nodded. "I know. I'm risking quite a bit by handing this to her." Armin pulled in a deep breath. "It's very hard. I lost a lot of family memorabilia when they broke into my house. This is one of the few pieces left to me. I remember my mother wearing it on special occasions and thinking it made her look like royalty." His sad smile made Eren's throat ache. "She'll know how important it is to me. She'll know it means the world to me. If she sells it for some quick cash then I'll know." Armin's slender fingers plucked at invisible specks on his sleeve. "If she doesn't…"

Eren nodded, handing him the heavy brooch back. "Hey Armin," His throat felt thick. He did not often like bringing up Armin's parents, especially not his father—but he wanted to make sure Armin saw the similarities, saw that he may be doing this, unnecessarily risking precious things, for some misguided sense of guilt from his past. "This isn't because of what happened to your dad, right?" Eren shut his eyes, forcing the words out. "You know it isn't your fault. You don't have to try and save Annie because she's going down the same road."

"It's not." Armin shrugged. "My dad's overdose was no one's fault but his own. My mother never understood that. I knew it from the beginning."

Eren looked at him now, finding Armin calm and composed, blue eyes thoughtful and sincere. "You sure?"

Armin nodded. "I do want to help her and it isn't how you would do it. I don't want to  _save_ her. I just want to be her friend because she doesn't have any and she reminds me of myself. My dad had mom and me. He had his own parents. He had everyone—but he was always off in his own head, alone. He never wanted any of us. Annie…" Armin turned the brooch over, examining it idly. "Annie is very much here. She's smart and—you might not think it—she's compassionate. But she doesn't have anyone."

Eren pondered. "Just make sure you know what you're getting into, Armin. I don't want another incident like—" Eren touched the small bandage at his temple. "this to happen, alright? Mikasa and I grew like fifty gray hairs over that night."

Armin nodded, his smile a little abashed. "Sorry."

"You should have seen Mikasa, though." Eren's gaze turned inwards. "Jumped out the car before it even stopped moving. Made it to you in a split second. I'd say she'd be the best cop out of all of us but…"

Armin frowned. "But?"

Eren's brows knitted together. "I don't know. Mikasa's just been acting weird lately, that's all."

And at that Armin stayed very, very quiet. "Actually, Eren…there's something I need to tell you. I think I know why Mikasa has been acting the way she has—and I don't think you're going to like it."

* * *

Hanji eyed the cop car in dismay. "Hello, officer Hannes."

"Just Hannes." Hannes corrected, hands running over his body as he searched for his wallet.

"You're taking us and the girls to prom…in a cop car?"

Hannes laughed a little, holding out his arm for her. She took it, her emerald colored dress shimmering prettily in the moonlight. "It'll be a good warning for anyone who wants to try anything." He led her to the passenger side of the car, pulling something out of his pocket. "Brought my badge, too. I get the feeling I might need it tonight."

Hanji slid into her seat, catching the figure of a shadow slinking into Mikasa's bedroom from the corner of her eye. She paused for a moment, recognizing the short, graceful figure, her brain working quickly to connect the dots. She looked away, calm and coming to one conclusion. "I find Tasers are much more useful."

* * *

"Come on you guys, we're leaving!" Sasha called from the doorway and Mikasa's heart stuttered when she saw her bedroom door pull close very slightly, a shadow flickering across the floor. She pulled back as the rest of the girls moved forward.

"I forgot something. I'll be right out." She murmured, making her way down the hallway, the click of her heels sharp against the linoleum. She entered her bedroom, shutting the door behind her quickly.

Levi was sprawled on her bed, one boot propped up on her sheets, the other dangling off the side as he thumbed through a book she'd had on her drawer. "Why the fuck do girls have to wear so much perfume?" He scowled. "I'm getting a fucking head ache."

Her gaze hardened. "It's not time yet."

He put the book down. "No." He sat up—brows rising when he eyed her dress, blue eyes catching over her makeup. "That's a good idea." He murmured. "The makeup makes you look older. It'll help us look less suspicious when we board the plane."

She clenched her hands into fists. "It isn't time yet."

He sighed, flipping onto his back again. He tugged his knife out of his pocket, twirling it as he spoke, the weak afternoon sunlight glinting off of it prettily. "I just came to check if you had everything ready."

She pressed her back against the door, her eyes fixed on the bed, her packed suitcase tucked beneath it. "My suitcase is under there. I've been ready." She breathed deeply. "You know I am." Her voice strengthened. "Why are you here now?"

Levi tossed the knife up—the point digging into the ceiling neatly. He shrugged, bending down to tug out her suitcase, feeling the heaviness of it, not possibly understanding how much it weighed. "Just wanted to make sure you wouldn't change your mind." He turned his head, blue eyes burning. "The flight is tonight, Mikasa. Don't be late."


End file.
